


That shit show with the Herald girl, the crazy Tevinter cult, and the hole in the sky

by Elster



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bull's POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elster/pseuds/Elster
Summary: The Herald of Andraste is only fourteen, and what's even worse, she actually thinks she's led by Andraste. Also there are way too many mages, some of them even from Tevinter. In short: It's a shit show. So is it weird when the Iron Bull doesn't really regret getting involved in all this?





	1. A town full of mages

“ _Also, it's 'THE Iron Bull.' I like having an article at the front. It makes it sound like I'm not even a person, just a mindless weapon, an implement of destruction... That really works for me._ ” – The Iron Bull

 

 

“Sometimes I don’t get you,” Krem says to the Iron Bull. They’re standing in their makeshift camp outside Haven and watch the retreating back of Evelyn Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste.

“Didn’t like that, did she?” Bull asks.

“Not sure why you’d think she would. ‘An implement of destruction’…” He shakes his head in bemusement. “Were you trying to scare her?”

Bull shrugs. “How much did you hear?”

“Only that last bit. Anything I should know?”

“Lots. She’s leaving for Redcliffe tomorrow. With me. Apparently her meeting with the Chantry folks over in Val Royeaux didn’t go well.”  Bull changes his tone of voice to mockingly bright. “But then she met Grand Enchanter Fiona who invited her to talk to the rebel mages.”

Krem frowns. “You think she wants to ally with them instead of the templars?”

“Maybe. Looks that way. We’ll see how these talks go.” Bull is less than enthusiastic about that prospect and there’s no reason to hide it from Krem.

“That’s an unexpected development.”

“One of her older brothers was a mage at Ostwick Circle, probably dead now.”

“So maybe not so unexpected to you. Your people tell you anything else I might want to know?”

Bull shakes his head. “I’m worried it’ll split the movement. Have an eye on that while I’m gone and keep me posted. Especially how the Commander will react.”

“I think he takes his cues from Seeker Pentaghast. No idea if she’ll go along with it though. She won’t like it, but she’s pragmatic.”

“Yeah. And find out what you can about the new people Evelyn brought with her from Val Royeaux. Some elven girl and Madame de Fer.”

“The court enchanter Madame de Fer?” Krem asks surprised.

“That’s the one.”

Krem whistles through his teeth. “Well, we know where she stands on the mage templar conflict.”

“Question is, will she fall in line with the boss or will she start doing her own thing?”

“I’m on it.”

Bull sighs. “Aw, Krempuff, I’ve got a feeling this is going to be an absolute shit show.” He’d been saying that from the first time he’d seen the girl they called the Herald of Andraste and realized that the only person who could close the fade rifts that had appeared everywhere was too fucking young.

“You and me both, chief.”

 

~*~

 

Redcliffe turns out to be exactly that: a shit show. There’s a rift right in front of the city gate and Solas, Varric and Bull struggle to keep the demons from getting to Evelyn before she can close it.

“This rift appears to have altered the flow of time around it,” Solas comments when they’re done. True to form he sounds more interested than unsettled by this kind of fuckery.

The gate is opened by the Inquisition scout they sent ahead to announce their arrival and some elven apostate who acts friendly enough. Problem is, nothing they say sounds any good to Bull. Fiona seems to have kept quiet about her invitation. Maybe that’s because she doesn’t actually lead the rebel mages any longer. A freaking magister does. They’re invited to talk to her anyway, since the magister’s not available for the moment.

“We should get out of here,” Bull voices his opinion.

Varric looks on the verge of agreeing with him, but doesn’t say so out loud and Solas shakes his head.

They’re all looking at Evelyn, who is no good in a fight and might be the only person who can undo whatever has been done to cause the magical, green glowing hole in the sky. It’s madness to risk her life like that.

But she has this stubborn look on her face. “I need the mages if I want to close the breach,” she says and there’s no doubt in her voice. “They will follow me.”

Bull gives up. The girl believes she’s chosen to save Thedas and it’s the only thing keeping her together. What’s he supposed to do? Grab her and carry her back to camp? Varric would probably help him, but Solas would likely fry his ass. He’s already talking weird stuff about the veil again. How it feels here as compared to other places. Bull has a very bad feeling about this whole plan they don’t have.

They find Fiona in the Gull and Lantern, a public house right next to Lake Calenhad. Her conversation with the boss is as confusing as it is fruitless. She doesn’t remember inviting Evelyn and says she hasn’t the authority to negotiate since the rebel mages pledged themselves to the Tevinter Imperium for protection.

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric says. “I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done and I’ve got nothing.”

That’s the least of what Bull thinks. “That right here is why you can’t trust mages,” he says.

Solas shoots him a look that isn’t so much angry as pitying. “I understand that you are afraid,” he tries to reason with Fiona, “but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

“What about the giant hole in the sky that’s spewing demons everywhere?” Evelyn brings them back on track. “You’re just going to pretend it isn’t there?”

“I am not forgetting the breach,” Fiona defends herself, “but we can only fight one war at a time. The templars’ threat was immediate. If we live, we can worry about the torn veil.”

That’s the moment the magister interrupts them. “Welcome my friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” He’s an older man, his attitude brisk and too fucking friendly by half.

“Agents of the Inquisition,” Fiona announces, “allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

“The southern mages are under my command,” he states grandiloquently. Then his attention falls on Evelyn, and his manner changes to one of shrewed curiosity. “And you are the survivor? Yes? The one from the fade? Interesting.”

Oh yeah, Bull thinks, nothing sinister about that man at all.

Evelyn however isn’t easily intimidated. “If you’re leading the mages now then let’s talk. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,” she proposes, with a lot more confidence than you’d expect from a fourteen year old girl in a negotiating position that might be called complicated if you want to put it kindly.

Alexius waves her to sit down with him at a table. “It is always a pleasure to meet a reasonable woman.” He doesn’t seem concerned with her age, probably already heard rumours to that effect. “Felix, would you send for a scribe? Pardon my manners, my son Felix, friends.”

Bull hopes the talking won’t take long. He doesn’t particularly care at this point if it ends in bloodshed. Being called ‘friend’ in that smarmy tone of voice just rubs him the wrong way.

The young man in question, who entered in the magister’s wake, bows without a word and leaves.

Alexius leans back in his chair. “I’m not surprised you’re here. Containing the breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavour. Ambitious, indeed.”

“Does that mean you’ll lend your mages to our cause?”

“There will have to be-” the Magister interrupts himself when his son, who has approached the table, suddenly falters.

Evelyn jumps up from her seat even faster than the magister, catching the young man as he loses balance and stumbles towards her.

Bull’s first thought is that it’s an attack, but Alexius looks sincerely worried now, calling his son’s name.

Evelyn and Felix go to their knees in a sort of controlled fall. “Mylady, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he apologizes to her.

“Are you alright?” The magister’s hovering at his son’s side now.

“I’m fine father,” Felix reassures him, but Bull can tell it isn’t working, mainly because Felix Alexius doesn’t look to be alright and his father’s behaviour implies that he hasn’t been for quite a long time.

“Come, I’ll get your powders,” the magister insists before he manages to reassume his businesslike manner from before. “Please excuse me, friends, we will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I’ll require your assistance back at the castle.” Felix protests weakly, but his objections are ignored by his father. “I shall send word to the Inquisition,” he announces in parting. “We will conclude this business at a later date.”

The door closes behind him and they are left alone. “Come to the chantry,” Evelyn says softly in a seeming non-sequitur. Bull looks over to her from where he kept his eye on the departing magister and his entourage and sees that she’s reading from a small piece of paper in her hand. “You are in danger.”

Bull didn’t catch Felix giving her that note. Admittedly he stood at a bad angle, but really, he must be slipping.

“Ooh, very mysterious,” Varric mocks, but Bull can tell that he’s worried, too. ‘In danger’, no shit.

“We’ll be careful,” Evelyn says, “but we need to figure out what’s going on here.”

Bull can hardly fault that logic. Following that lead shouldn’t be riskier than the meeting they just had.

Bull doesn’t know what he expected to find in the chantry. An ambush, most likely. Felix Alexius explaining what’s going on, possibly.

He didn’t expect a rift right in the middle of the fucking chantry, and neither did he expect yet another Tevinter mage, battling demons and greeting them with all the casual grace of a born performer. “Good, you’re finally here. Now help me close this, would you.” As odd requests from strangers go, it’s pretty reasonable.

The man’s fighting with fire for the most part, but he’s not above using his staff as a bludgeon or spear. His style’s a bit messy, much too showy, but he’s not altogether a bad fighter and he’s something to look at.

When they’re finally done, all demons slain and the rift vaporized, the mage turns to Evelyn. “Fascinating. How exactly does that work?” he asks and laughs when no answer is forthcoming. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes.” He sounds mostly intrigued. Maybe even a little bit awed.

“Who are you?” Evelyn asks the obvious question.

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Watch yourself,” Bull warns. “The pretty ones are always the worst.” Because he can see that Evelyn is impressed by his handsomeness and charming manners. Hell, Bull is, kinda. Man’s got a face that not even his silly moustache can spoil and he acts like he knows it.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian of House Pavus says with a dismissive glance, before talking directly to Evelyn again. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable. As I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I was expecting Felix to be here,” she says warily.

“He must be on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet use here after ditching his father.”

“Did you send the note?”

“It was my idea. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition Alexius distorted time itself.”

“He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died?”

“You catch on quick,” Dorian praises.

It makes sense. After the explosion of the Conclave and the death of the Divine became known, the enraged templars would have made a concerted effort to wipe out the remaining rebel mages. Leaving Fiona little choice but to accept any help that was offered in that situation.

“That is fascinating if true. And almost certainly dangerous,” Solas interjects.

Almost certainly? Almost? Why do mages always have to go poke at things that should never be touched?

“The rift you closed here?” Dorian continues. “You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon, there’ll be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world.”

“How do you know that?” Evelyn asks.

“I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice. Of course, it was pure theory then. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

This is when Felix appears. “He didn’t do it for them.”

Dorian seems relieved to see him. “Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?”

Felix grimaces. “No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” He turns to speak to Evelyn. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And I can tell you one thing: Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

Evelyn looks apprehensive, but notably unsurprised. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“You know you’re his target,” Dorian answers instead of Felix. “Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” With these words he flounces towards the exit. “Oh, and Felix.” He turns around and folds his hands pleadingly. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” Felix replies with an odd look on his face. Bull will never understand why Vints always have to be this ominous.

 


	2. A blue druffalo

Their party returns to Haven. Upon arriving, they’re greeted by Seeker Pentaghast, who is livid. Luckily, she has the most persistent hate boner for Varric and so initially her ire mostly concentrates on him, which means Bull can slink away comparatively unmolested. Evelyn throws him a betrayed look, but Bull just raises his eyebrow in a way that’s supposed to convey: ‘You brought this on yourself, kid.’

“I gather the Seeker didn’t know about this excursion?” he asks Krem when he finds him by their camp.

Krem smiles. He can be unbecomingly gleeful about things like that. “She had conniptions when she noticed that Evelyn was gone. I told her what you said to me about where you wanted to go. Didn’t help much.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“How was it?”

“Oh you know, just your usual gig. A bunch of crazy apostates, some cultist magister who turns up and enslaves them. Great basis for an alliance.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Would I joke about things like that, Krempuff?”

“Well? Tell me. What’s going on?”

“The magister’s son and former apprentice think he’s gone too far and offered their help to take him down. Proper conspiracy, clandestine meeting in front of a scenic backdrop and all. I’m sure I’ve seen an Orlesian opera like that. Rank amateurs. They say this cult wants the boss for something, so maybe we got saved by the bell. But if so, that magister has a very roundabout way of getting things done. Maybe he’s reluctant, cautious, overconfident. Maybe he’s as much of an ineffective dipshit as the other two. Beats me.”

“Sounds fishy.”

“Yeah, absolute shit show, as I said. The boss seems dead set on stopping that magister now. I have to admit doing nothing about Redcliffe could make everything even worse, so maybe it’s not a completely terrible course of action. But damn.”

“Shit.” Krem says. “Getting the templars to help would be so much easier.”

 

~*~

 

Bull doesn’t hear anything new for two days and it makes him twitchy as shit. He isn’t allowed to war table meetings, they’re no complete trusting fools after all, but the air in Haven is alive with rumours and gossip.

“Well, they’re still arguing, aren’t they?” the new elven girl, Sera who is seven kinds of crazy and fits right in with Bull’s boys, says from where she sits around their fire one evening. “Loads of arguing. Commander cheesy-face, he’s all ‘templars, templars’ and ‘we don’t have the people to lay siege to Redcliffe right now’.” Her impersonation of Cullen Rutherford is piss-poor since it mostly just consists of her making a sad frowny face. It’s funny nonetheless. “And the sneaky redhead is like ‘who talks about a siege?’ And then the Antivan tries to make them play nice and then bam!” Sera claps her hands. “The Nevarran’s head explodes with impatience, and then the nosy dwarf makes some joke and they throw him out. And Evy screams that she’s no child and that she’ll go free the mages and they better make a plan to help her. And then it all starts again.”

“Ugh,” Krem comments eloquently.

“Yeah,” Rocky agrees, “How long do you reckon they can keep that up, Chief?”

“If they don’t decide something until tomorrow night, we’ll stage a coup,” Bull promises, and he’s only half joking.

“Can’t tell if you’re serious, but count me in,” Sera says.

Their attention is suddenly diverted by a commotion farther down the path leading past their camp and up into Haven proper.

“Unhand me right this moment! I need to speak to the Herald of Andraste or whoever’s in charge here,” a haughty voice says. It’s only vaguely familiar to Bull, having heard it on only one occasion, but it hasn’t been that long and it’s a pretty recognizable voice, so he decides to get up and see what’s going on.

Dorian of House Pavus has been apprehended by some hapless Inquisition soldiers who obviously have no idea what they have on their hands or how to handle it. Bull sighs to himself. He’s far too drunk for this shit.

“You can let him go,” he says to the soldiers. They don’t argue with him. Very few people ever do. “He won’t make any trouble, will he?” The last words he directs to the man in question, who primly straightens his clothing and hair, before looking up at Bull. Dorian’s mastered the art of looking down on anybody, even if he has to tilt his head back pretty far to do so.

“I cannot promise that, but I will do my best,” he says, because of course he’s a fucking smartass. “Alexius sent a formal invitation for the Herald. I thought I better make sure you don’t stumble into that trap unprepared.”

Bull rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t even know where to start.

“You know this asshole?” Krem asks. Bull turns around to see that everyone has come closer to have a look at their new arrival.

“He’s the magister’s apprentice I talked about.”

“Former apprentice,” the man corrects as if it makes a lick of a difference to Bull.

“You’ve something on your face there,” Sera says and points at an imaginary moustache on her own face. Then she cackles madly and Dorian blinks at her in bemused consternation.

“I’d like to speak to the Herald of Andraste,” he repeats, only slightly cowed in the face of Bull and his boys and Sera, who’s surprisingly deadly for someone who weights maybe a hundred pounds dripping wet. “If you please,” he adds belatedly.

“Well, if he asks so politely,” Stitches says, looking at Bull with a raised eyebrow.

It’s not Bull’s job to decide who does or doesn’t get to meet the boss. He doesn’t trust this Dorian of House Pavus, but the guy draws attention like a blue druffalo and seems to like it. So no, Bull does not seriously think he’s here to assassinate the boss in a bid for suicidal glory or something. And if he wanted to spy, damn, security in Haven is hopeless anyway. New people arrive every day, nobody knows each other yet, and literally everything is a provisional arrangement. Maybe a blue druffalo’s just the right thing to decide the ongoing argument up in the chantry. And if they bite his head off in the process, it’s no skin off Bull’s nose.

“Whatever. Come on,” he says to him, earning himself a suspicious look.

“What? Just like that?”

Bull shrugs. “I’m just hired muscle,” he says in his best impression of dumb Vashoth, nothing to see here. It makes his boys giggle, which kind of ruins the act. Apparently Bull isn’t the only one far too drunk for this.

“What happened to ‘the pretty ones are always the worst’?” Dorian asks with narrowed eyes.

He shouldn’t have said that. It makes Bull’s boys cheer and clamour and scream obscenities at their backs. Bull winces. Dorian doesn’t lower himself to do something as common as that, but is that the slightest blush on his face? Makes Bull almost feel a bit sorry to throw him to the wolves.

He paws Dorian off to one of Cullen’s men at the door to the chantry. The poor guy can do little but follow after Dorian in a flustered flutter as he’s heading straight towards the door leading into the war room. It’s easy to find because of the raised voices coming out of it, and also Bull’s confident Dorian of House Pavus hones in on drama like a carrier pigeon hones in on its cot.


	3. A minor miracle, witnessed in time

“Announce us,” Evelyn says confidently as she walks up to the throne room of Redcliffe castle, the Seeker and Bull flanking her like the bodyguards they are.

“The Magister’s invitation was for the Lady Trevelyan only,” some pasty lackey tries to fob them off. “These others will have to remain here.” He looks at them like something he scraped off the sole of his boots, but the look falters in the face of the Seeker’s mighty scowl and impressive insignia and Bull’s, well, everything. He’s well over eight feet tall, if you measure to the tips of his horns, brawny, and covered in battle scars. There’s not a lot people who’ve got the guts to give him shit, and that one’s certainly not one of them.

Evelyn stands straight with the conviction of her divine mission and the knowledge that they chose her companions specifically to make that gambit work. “Where I go, they go.”

The lackey folds as expected. They’re led up to the Arl’s throne on which Magister Alexius sits. “My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

Bull takes note of a handful or armed guards, Grand Enchanter Fiona off to the side and Felix Alexius standing on his father’s right.

“My friend!” Alexius gets up and comes a few steps closer in a show of hospitality. “It’s so good to see you again.” He sounds sincere enough, but then he must have been anxious for Evelyn to be stupid enough to walk into his trap, obvious as it is. Though, to a Vint’s thinking, there would simply be no alternative to the mages if you wanted to close the rift. Their templars aren’t more than a glorified honour guard after all, not a magic-negating elite like the templars of the south.

“And your associates, of course,” Alexius adds. There’s a notable pause before the word ‘associates’ and an exasperated tint to the ‘of course’ that makes quite clear how happy he is to see them. Bull likes that much better than being addressed as ‘friend’ again. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

So they’re still playing this game. Bull suppresses a sigh. He would be much happier just cutting everyone down and being done with it. He’s reasonably sure the Seeker agrees with him there. Unfortunately, they need to buy time until the reinforcements arrive through the secret tunnel. If they can rely on Dorian to get them through Alexius’ safeguards in one piece. Bull doesn’t like this plan. There’s nothing about it that isn’t preposterous. Secret tunnel. Relying on an altus mage. It’s only an improvement to the last time they were here insofar as previously they had no plan at all.

In an unexpected strike of good luck, Grand Enchanter Fiona is buoyed enough by their return to find her spine. “Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” she asks, stepping close to Evelyn.

“Fiona,” Alexius says, “you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”

Bull doesn’t laugh out loud, mostly because it isn’t all that funny, but that’s a joke if he ever heard one.

“If the Grand Enchanter wants to be part of these talks then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition,” the boss says, and Bull has to hand it to her, she has the innocence act down pat.

Fiona thanks her and Alexius turns around and paces back to his thrown, probably to hide his irritation at this development.

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the breach and I have them,” he says after he sits down, soft-spoken and reasonable as you please. “So, what shall you offer in exchange?” Bull could almost believe they were in a real negotiation if he didn’t know better.

“Nothing at all,” Evelyn says, “I’m just gonna take the mages and leave.” She sounds so calm about it, so absolutely certain that this is exactly what is going to happen that Bull can’t help being impressed with her courage.

Alexius, in contrast, isn’t buying it. “And how do you imagine you will accomplish such a feat?”

This is the moment when Felix decides to intervene. “She knows everything, father.”

“Felix, what have you done?” For the first time Alexius’ jovial façade cracks and he shows true anger.

“Your son is concerned that you’re involved in something terrible,” Evelyn says, diplomatically enough that Lady Montilyet would probably weep with joy if she could see her right now. Not that Alexius seems much concerned with diplomacy at this point.

“So speaks the thief,” he hisses angrily. “Do you think you can turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark – a gift you don’t even understand – and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.”

“What do you know about the Divine’s death?” Evelyn asks. There’s a thread of uncertainty showing for the first time now.

“It was the Elder One’s moment, and you were unworthy even to stand in his presence.”

So Alexius’ cult _was_ behind the explosion at the Conclave and also connected to Evelyn’s allegedly divine powers.

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix pleads. “Do you know what you sound like?”

The plot thickens, the drama commences, cue Dorian of House Pavus. “He sounds exactly like the villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” he exclaims.

“Dorian,” Alexius says and quickly hides his surprise behind a sort of paternal disappointment. “I gave you a chance to be part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from his own ashes.”

The look on Dorian’s face is guarded, but Bull thinks that underneath that he looks hurt.

“That’s who you serve?” Evelyn asks, still fishing for more information about what happened at the Conclave to cause the explosion. “The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?”

“Soon he will become a god,” Alexius claims. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. He will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

Oh fuck, Bull thinks, he’s soliloquizing now. That last line is actually so deeply engrained in the claim to power of Tevinter supremacists through the ages that even Bull knows it. You see, they could as well say ‘rule over all of Thedas’, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona protests. Bull wonders what in Koslun’s name she thought they were involved in.

Dorian’s looking kind of sick now, but he makes a last attempt at reasoning with his former mentor, or maybe he’s just too angry to keep it to himself, it’s hard to tell. “Alexius, that is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?” He steps closer, coming to a halt in front of Evelyn. Not a coincidence that. Bull doesn’t rightly trust anything that comes out of that man’s mouth, but he’s earned himself some cookie points with Bull for stepping between the boss and the crazy man.

“Stop it, father,” Felix takes the same line, “Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the breach and let’s go home.”

“No,” Alexius says, and he actually does sound sorry, “it’s the only way, Felix. He can save you.”

“Save me?” Felix asks indignantly.

“There is a way, the Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple…”

“I’m going to die,” Felix says angrily. “You need to accept that.”

This is when the whole charade breaks down and Alexius finally gives the order to kill the boss. Sadly, Bull has no opportunity to do anything, because Leliana’s assassins are right where they’re supposed to be and take the Venatori guards out without much fuss.

That’s when Alexius does what every mage does when backed in a corner: He turns everything to shit. Bull has moment to think that they should’ve seen this coming and hopes the Seeker is as good as they say, and then the boss and Dorian are swallowed by a vaguely rift-like portal that Alexius conjures up by waving around a glowing amulet.

Before Bull can think more than ‘Shit, shit, shit’, before he can even take a step towards Alexius to cut his cursed head off, the two appear again roughly where they disappeared from.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian says to Alexius, but it’s all bravado. Wherever Alexius’ magic sent them, the two look as if a strong wind could blow them over right now.

Luckily, Alexius goes to his knees in the face of his failed attempt to get rid of Evelyn. “You won. There is no point in extending this charade,” he says, before turning to his son. “Felix…”

“It’s going to be alright, father,” Felix tries to comfort him.

Alexius shakes his head. “You’ll die,” he says, and the pain in his voice is so raw that Bull almost feels sorry for him.

“Everyone dies,” Felix replies sadly.

Alexius doesn’t meet his eyes as he stands up to be escorted out of the hall. Felix follows him.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with,” Dorian says in a forced cheerful tone and Evelyn looks at him with a wobbly smile.

“Or not,” Dorian adds warily as a score of knights in armour enter the hall, followed by the Arl and his wife. Who seem to think now is the perfect time to pick the beef they have with the Grand Enchanter. It’s kind of funny how Fiona seems like a scolded child in the face of their justified anger at the state they now find their city in. But seriously, what did they think would happen when they let the rebel mages hide here?

They rectify their mistake by kicking the mages out, effective immediately. Fiona is devastated at this turn of events, somewhat understandably so. Bull sees Dorian put a hand on Evelyn’s arm to focus her attention to the unfolding scene. She visibly pulls herself together.

“We still need help with the breach,” she reminds Fiona. “You can come with us.”

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona has the gall to ask.

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian says to her, before turning to the boss. “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?” Bull mentally retracts all the cookie points he’s earned up until now for pushing the boss like that.

“I suggest conscripting them,” Cassandra advises while eying Dorian like the bad influence he obviously is. “They’ve proven what they’ll do if given too much freedom.”

Dorian looks constipated, but he manages to hold his tongue.

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer,” Fiona admits resignedly.

“We would be honoured to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side,” Evelyn decides. She even smiles a bit at Fiona.

What the fuck, boss?

“We’ll discuss this. Later,” Cassandra says. She looks about as constipated now as Dorian did a moment ago. Bull doesn’t imagine he looks any better. Evelyn’s face falls at her tone.

“I pray that the rest of the Inquisition honours your promise then,” Fiona comments, not missing the barely contained discontent among them.

“The breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now,” Evelyn says and while she talks to Fiona what she says is also directed at Cassandra. “We can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.” Well, somebody’s not giving in without a fight. Bull doesn’t approve of the decision, but good on the kid for managing to stand up to someone as formidable as the Seeker and at the same time motivating everyone in the room to give their best for the cause. There might be hope for them yet.


	4. A fundamentally misguided person

They track back to Haven with literally hundreds of mages at his back and Bull hates it with a passion. Travelling with so many people, most of them without mount, is a tedious process that would try his patience under the best of circumstances. In Bull’s book, mages and good circumstances do not go in the same sentence. It sets his teeth on edge for the whole week they need to reach Haven. Where he’ll have to live with these hundreds of mages. It’s just too much.

“Well, don’t you look unhappy.” Dorian comments from where he’s suddenly riding beside the Bull.

“Yeah? You’re one to talk. It’s the first day I see you not being gloomy yourself.”

Dorian frowns. “I had to leave my favourite Alexius behind,” he says lightly. “What’s your excuse?” The guy has made and art form out of appearing not to care. Shame that he’s shit at it. If you spend that much time honing a skill, it should be one you have the least bit talent for.

“You could have run off with him,” Bull suggests. “We have more than enough mages on our hands.”

Dorian laughs. “As if a hundred of them could ever hope to replace one of me.”

Bull scowls at him. Considers his vile self-confidence and his disgustingly perfect appearance. Scowls some more. “Did they kick you out of Tevinter that you feel the need to come with us?” He’s not above cheap shots when he’s disgruntled.

“Am I not allowed to help save the world?” Dorian asks mildly, but he stopped laughing at least, so Bull can feel at least a bit vindicated.

Bull drops the conversation, because there’s some irony in the question, but still entirely too much conviction that that’s exactly what they’re going to do. For some reason, at this exact moment, Bull just can’t stand it. He spurs his horse and leaves Dorian behind.

 

~*~

 

Everything’s better once he’s back with his boys. The moment he sees Krem and the others he feels like he can finally breathe deeply again. That night they take over the Singing Maiden and Bull plays a few rounds of cards with Krem, Sera and Varric. Between them they share a pitcher of truly terrible ale, absolute piss, dutifully refilled by the wonderful Flissa. Bull tells them what happened at Redcliffe in exchange for the newest Haven gossip. He’s in an excellent mood, the kind of universal goodwill for mankind that only the right amount of alcohol can create.

It’s the only explanation for why, when Dorian enters the room, he stops to wave him over to their table.

Dorian looks confused for a moment, but he schools his face and comes over quickly enough. “And to think that on the way here I could have sworn you didn’t care for my company,” he says idly to Bull.

Bull shrugs. “This is Dorian of House Pavus,” Bull says to the others. “Most recently of Minrathous,” he adds after the slightest pause, just to make sure Dorian knows he’s making fun of him. “That’s Krem, Sera and Varric. And I’m the Iron Bull.”

Dorian mouths ‘the Iron Bull?’ incredulously.

“We’ve met,” Varric reminds him. “You’re part of the Inquisition now, Sparkler?”

Dorian looks confused by the nickname for a second or two, but doesn’t comment. “As of this evening, yes. In between fierce discourse about the relative merits of her decisions, the Herald graciously asked me to join.”

Sera makes a farting noise. “Oi, use words, prissy pants,” she slurs. “You’d fit right in with Madame de fop, posh mages think they’re something better.” The last sentence is almost inaudible as Sera is pretty wasted already and also talking into her cup.

It doesn’t seem to bother Dorian. “Madame de Fer and I met briefly this afternoon. I’m afraid I can’t see our relationship ever becoming overly cordial.”

Everyone at the table looks at him. In drunken curiosity in Varric’s case, drunken disapproval in Krem’s case, and a mix of both in Sera’s. None of them seem to feel the need to say anything to make the silence less awkward. Krem’s always been a quiet drunk and Sera appears to be too out of it. Varric’s probably gauging the mood and Bull’s undecided on whether he wants the man to stay or not.

“Well,” Dorian says when he finally caves to the lull in conversation. “I was on my way to get an overview of this... hamlet. It’s certainly… rustic.”

“In the dark?” Sera asks.

“Have a seat, Sparkler,” Varric finally invites. Krem throws him an annoyed glance and Varric raises both eyebrows at him. “What?”

“It’s Dorian of House Pavus, you know,” Bull drawls, ostensibly to correct Varric, but in fact it’s an attempt to mollify Krem. “Most recently of Minrathous, if I remember correctly.”

“Are you being facetious?” Dorian asks.

“Dunno,” Bull answers. “Not sure what that word means.”

Krem snorts a laugh, so Bull counts that as a success.

Dorian finds a chair and finally sits down, so everybody else in the room can hopefully get back to minding their own business.

“We’re out of cups,” Varric says, “but you can probably use Sera’s, I think she’s done for tonight.”

She’s indeed resting her head on the table now, though her eyes are still open. “Piss off,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t put up much of a fight as Varric takes her cup and pours the sorry drags of the ale that’s left in their pitcher. He hands it to Dorian who looks at it dubiously, but then shrugs and drinks it down in one gulp. He shudders, but to his credit doesn’t spit it back out. Doesn’t even complain out loud about the swill.

“Flissa,” Bull calls over to the bar, “We’re drying out here.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Dorian hastens to say.

“No way,” Varric disagrees with a smirk. “We need a fourth player now that Sera’s out. Also you didn’t think you could leave before you’ve told us everything about that ‘fierce discourse’ you witnessed, did you?”

Dorian complies easily; after all he’s deeply in love with the sound of his own voice. Then he exceeds expectations by telling them about where Alexius’ magic sent him and Evelyn, something the Bull knew next to nothing about.

“Time travel,” Varric comments, “I couldn’t dream up shit like that.”

“Indeed,” Dorian agrees. “There we are, the Herald of Andraste and me, stranded in time, with no idea where we are or how to get back.” His voice is light, but Bull’s almost sure there’s a memory of real fear underneath that veneer. “Turns out, we only made it from the throne room down to the dungeons, only one year into the future.” He makes a forward moving gesture with his hands. “Well, hopefully not the actual future. Let’s assume one possible future, in which the Herald disappeared and did not turn up immediately after.”

It’s a nice evening. Krem doesn’t really thaw up to Dorian of House Pavus, but he stops glowering whenever the man opens his mouth after only about half an hour. Varric is charmed, Bull can tell, though that doesn’t stop him from robbing Dorian blind. Doesn’t take that long either, it’s only three rounds until he announces he’s out of money and one more until he’s out of silk handkerchiefs to add to the pool. Anyway, Bull wouldn’t know what use anyone has for silk handkerchiefs.

They stop playing after that, but they keep talking and drinking. Dorian Pavus is certainly an entertaining drunk. You’d think he’d get a bit rougher around the edges, a bit less polished in his speech, a bit more like a normal person, but if anything he’s only more… whatever he is when sober. You wouldn’t think when looking at him that he’s a particularly restrained person, but it’s like alcohol cranks his posh vintiness up to an almost ridiculous degree. His gestures get wider and his sentences ramble on, like he’s more determined than ever not to let his marvellous thoughts be limited by such pesky things as language. Also his gaze starts lingering on Bull, a lot, which is certainly an interesting development.

“I admit to being worried about that meeting Evelyn had with Fiona in Val Royeaux,” Dorian says at one point and Bull decides to stop drinking now, because he has no idea what he’s on about. It must have shown on his face, because Dorian starts to explain at length.

“Originally, Fiona went to Val Royeaux, probably to try to negotiate an armistice with the Chantry. Where she met Evelyn, after, I assume, both had been equally unsuccessful in-” He moves his hand in a circling gesture, looking for the right wording. “-finding someone sympathetic to their causes amongst all the infighting. She invited Evelyn to open negotiations and thus, when Alexius arrived in Redcliffe-” Dorian breaks off, pauses. “When Alexius arrived, Fiona would have dismissed his offers of indenture as inferior to a possible allegiance with the Inquisition. Or at least she would have waited what terms they would offer before choosing Alexius. So he travelled back to the time right after the death of the Divine when the situation was most uncertain and most desperate for Fiona and her people. In that situation she agreed to his terms on the spot, and-” Here he raises his hand to draw their attention to what Bull very much hopes is the conclusion to all this rambling. “-more importantly to the cause of my concern, she never went to Val Royeaux. And if Evelyn never met Fiona, she wouldn’t have come to Redcliffe. But she did. So who did Evelyn talk to? The Fiona from the other timeline you’d think, but what does that imply regarding the stability of timelines?”

“Well, shit,” Varric sums up both his and Bull’s thoughts.

“And that’s why I think we should send Fiona back in time,” Dorian concludes, and proves that he’s a deeply misguided person after all and Bull shouldn’t have let himself forget it.

Varric must look as sceptical as Bull, because Dorian leans back in his seat and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Just to talk to Evelyn in Val Royeaux, nothing else. I think it would stabilize the timelines.”

“Yeah, or blow them wide apart,” Krem points out wryly from where he’s slumped back on his seat. Bull thought he’d lost interest in the conversation an hour ago, but trust Krem to call bullshit wherever bullshit rears its ugly head.

“Terrible idea,” Bull agrees.

“Sorry, Sparkler, you mean well, but Tiny’s right there, off-the-scale, magnificently terrible idea.”

Dorian looks from one to the other like they’re just too thick to appreciate his genius. “Very well. Don’t come crying to me when the paradox catches up with us and undoes everything we’ve achieved up to now.”

“Don’t you think you’re worrying too much about things you don’t even know for certain will happen?” Varric asks gently.

It seems to have more of an effect on Dorian than outright dismissal, so Bull decides to chip in. “Yeah, how about we cross that bridge when we come to it and don’t pre-emptively dry up the river,” he suggests.

Dorian drops his defensive stance and sighs dramatically. “That’s a very strained metaphor, but I guess you have a point,” he admits.

It’s not much later when Flissa throws them out, informing them that it’s four hours before sunrise and she still wants to get some sleep tonight.

 

~*~

 

“The Iron Bull,” Leliana greets him when he comes close to the make-shift tent she works out of. He doesn’t have to say a word. “Of course I will inform you about everything of note that comes up when we question Gereon Alexius.”

“About that…” Bull says.

Leliana looks at him with her calm, piercing eyes. It’s uncanny. “No, I will not allow you to question him yourself or be present during questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Bull knows when to pick his battles. “No.”

“Very well,” she dismisses him before turning away. “I’m busy. Andraste be with you.”

Bull doubts it.

Leliana is as good as her word. He receives comprehensive reports and transcripts only three days later. There’s no telling what is censored or changed, really, but it’s a lot of information and she has little reason to feed him anything that’s fundamentally wrong. The boiled down version goes like this:

 

_In conclusion, the questioning of Gereon Alexius (henceforth referred to as GA) and Dorian Pavus (henceforth referred to as DP) regarding the events at Redcliffe that led to the alliance of the Inquisition with the rebel mages have yielded the following information that will be relevant to the Inquisition for future action:_

  * _The death of the Most Holy Divine Justinia V was caused by a cult of Tevinter supremacists who call themselves Venatori._
  * _They are led by the so-called Elder One, who must be a mage of significant power and claims to godhood._
  * _According to GA the death of the Divine was part of a ritual that was supposed to give the Elder One a power which was bestowed instead on Evelyn Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste (henceforth referred to as the Herald) by unknown means. GA claims to have no further knowledge regarding the details of said ritual, the power bestowed upon the Herald, or the circumstances that caused the explosion that killed most attendants to the Conclave._
  * _GA was able to influence the flow of time with magic. According to DP they have both been working on the theory of this magic for years prior to GA’s association with the Venatori. He theorizes that the events of the breach changed the nature of the veil in a way that makes time magic possible._
  * _GA used time magic to gain control of the rebel mages under Grand Enchanter Fiona._
  * _DP and the Herald have given consistent record of having been transported approximately one year into an alternate future by GA from which they managed to return within a few hours, or almost instantaneously for outside observers, by DP killing the future version GA and reversing his magic. Inferring from this future the following conclusions can be drawn:_
  * _The Elder One will acquire control over an army of demons through unknown means._
  * _The Venatori will conceive of a plot to successfully assassinate Empress Celine of Orlais._
  * _The Venatori will get hold of red lyrium in large quantities, from unknown sources._
  * _The use of time magic to change events in the past is limited to the moment of the Conclave explosion, the outcome of which could not be changed by the future version of GA, even though that was his primary goal._
  * _According to GA the Venatori are organized in discrete groups who receive their commands directly from the Elder One and are not informed about his plans beyond their task. Nonetheless, questioning of GA regarding the organization and locations of the Venatori yielded several starting points for further inquiries:_
  * _He could name two other Tevinter mages that hold high ranks within the Venatori: Livius Erimond, an altus who is personally known to GA as well as DP, and ‘Calpernia’, about whom GA knows nothing but that name, while DP claims to have no knowledge of her at all._
  * _In the course of his research for the Venatori GA repeatedly visited Val Royeaux, as well as the Western Approach and the Hissing Wastes, where according to GA the Venatori conduct excavations on a large scale. GA could not be conclusively questioned about the purpose of these excavations yet._
  * _GA is directly responsible for the murder of an unknown number of tranquils who were used in a ritual to create so-called oculara. The purpose of these oculara is to find what GA calls ‘shards’, magical objects of an unknown nature that are supposed to enable the Elder One to find something that GA claims could cure the blight._
  * _The Herald has requested DP to join the Inquisition as an agent on basis of his significant assistance in thwarting the plans of GA. The leading members of the Inquisition agree to this recruitment. DP will be put on probation until a proper background check has been conducted._
  * _GA has a son, Felix Alexius, who was involved in all these events. Unfortunately he could not be questioned, as he fled to Tevinter in the aftermath. According to the Herald and DP he worked on their side and was not personally associated with the Venatori. According to DP he plans to make the actions of his father and the plans of the Venatori public in Tevinter and should not be apprehended. Attempts by our agents to find him and bring him in for questioning have been unsuccessful so far. DP is cooperative in trying to contact him as soon as he reaches Tevinter._
  * _On DP’s insistence it is noted that GA surrendered to the Inquisition forces without a fight and is now willing to supply any and all information available to him to stop the Elder One and the Venatori._



 

Bull reads it once, twice, a third time. It doesn’t get any better. They’re going to shit bricks on Par Vollen.


	5. A relaxing trip with friends

“See, Sparkler, you say you’re just helping prepare the mages for closing the breach. And Chuckles says you’re involving him in endless, fruitless discussions,” Bull hears Varric elucidate for Dorian from where he’s riding behind them. “Maybe it’s hard for some people to tell the difference, is all I’m saying.”

Dorian sniffs. “You put that very diplomatically. Evy, is that the reason you volunteered to lead a search party for these soldiers? Is Solas conspiring against me?”

“No?” Evelyn says from where she’s riding in front. She doesn’t sound convincing at all. “I think a nice little trip like this is exactly what all of us need.”

“A nice little trip to a place called the Fallow Mire?” Dorian asks sceptically.

“Well…”

“Varric doesn’t even like the countryside, he’s a reasonable person after all.”

“Aw, thanks, Sparkler.”

“Apart from that I fear for his life in a swamp, he’s so short.”

“It’s true,” Varric admits good-naturedly.

“Sera said she was busy at the moment,” Evelyn replies sheepishly.

Varrics chuckles. “What she’s busy doing is messing with Curly. Says she thinks he ‘needs stirring up’. Definitely a worthy cause, but hardly a critical mission.”

“Who’s Curly?” Dorian wants to know.

“Commander Rutherford,” Bull answers.

“Really?” Dorian strokes his beard. “Now that I would like to see. I very much hope we don’t miss it.”

“I can make no promises,” Evelyn says in a fair imitation of Dorian’s more upscale speech pattern. “But of course I’ll do my utmost to indulge your every whim.”

“Music to my ears,” Dorian replies before turning to Bull. “And what did you do to be here?”

“Got hired, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but taking the Iron Bull away from his Chargers? It’s like taking a hen away from her chicks. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”

“Hey, I’m fine,” Bull objects.

Dorian only shakes his head sadly.

That evening as they wind down in camp Bull keeps an eye on how the boss interacts with Dorian. They’ve grown close quickly, seems a trip to a calamitous future binds people together. Bull doesn’t like it, but he has to admit it’s not all bad. Dorian’s protective of her, for one thing. And Evelyn’s acting more like an adolescent around him and less like the second coming of Andraste with the weight of the world on her shoulders Bull has gotten to know during the last few weeks. Maybe Dorian’s irreverence is good for her, who knows.

What’s not good is the way she talks around him, the ways she tries to act like him in a bid to gain his approval.

The next day, Bull watches for an opportunity to talk to Dorian without the others listening in. He gets it when Dorian’s horse falls back a bit behind the others, Dorian not bothering to push it forwards. He seems to be deep in thought, or just woolgathering, hard to tell the difference with him. Bull reins in his horse until it’s walking next to him.

“You should be careful with her,” Bull says to him and Dorian looks at him with surprise, as if he didn’t hear him coming.

“What?” he asks inelegantly.

“Evelyn.”

Dorian only blinks at him blankly. If it’s an act it’s a very good one.

“She’s got a crush on you,” Bull states.

“Of course she does. I’m universally adored.” Dorian laughs. Stops. Meets Bull’s steady gaze. “You’re serious,” he finally says.

Bull says nothing. It’s usually a good method to just let people talk.

“Well, you hardly need to worry about that,” Dorian says. “She’s much too young for me, for one.”

For another, Bull suspects, Dorian has about as much sexual interest in women as Sera does in men, which is to say none at all. Bull waits a moment for him so say it outright, but he doesn’t. Vints are so weird about these things.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Bull says when the pause gets too long. “Not saying you’re about to elope with her. But you’re not the kind of person anyone in Haven would like to have an influence over the Herald of Andraste, just saying.”

“Including you?” Dorian says with a challenging tilt to his chin.

“Including me,” Bull admits easily.

“What do you think I might do? Seduce her to a life of decadence and blood sacrifice?”

“I don’t know you,” Bull says with a shrug.

Dorian scoffs angrily, though he was kind of asking for that insult. “No, you don’t. And still you look at me and think you bloody well do.”

Bull smiles at him, an easy, friendly smile. “They did kick you out of Tevinter, didn’t they?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You make the Tevinter Imperium sound like a rowdy tavern. They didn’t ‘kick me out’. I left.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought the south sounded so charming, what do you think?”

“Just trying to get to know you,” Bull says innocently.

“Why?” Dorian narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t clam up. He’s a fairly easy target, outgoing, susceptible to flattery, craving attention. Doesn’t matter much if he’s a bit suspicious.

“Why not? Interesting guy like you. Lots of things worth knowing about you, I bet.”

Dorian only raises one haughty eyebrow in answer, but Bull can tell he’s flustered underneath that act.

“No? Shame.”

“I came to find Felix, if you need to know. Didn’t know what I was getting into, obviously.”

“Would you have come if you knew?”

Dorian glances at him quickly, before looking straight ahead. “What a curious question… Yes, I’d like to believe so.”

“Are you trying to prove something to someone or did your life lack meaning? Because I tell you, there’s not a whole lot of spoiled nobles scrambling to join the Inquisition.”

It’s a provocative question, but Dorian just laughs. “A bit of both maybe? Now I’m wondering about Madame de Fer. Not that she’s a noble, or spoiled, mind, but moving to Haven isn’t exactly moving up in the world, and I have the feeling that’s something she cares about very much.”

“Eh, maybe she’s had her fill of the quarrelling Orlesian elite and wants to do something useful.”

“Maybe,” Dorian says. “What about you? I think we’ve established that you’re much smarter than you let on. Why did you take this job when I imagine there’s a whole lot more money to be made in the Orlesian civil war or even here in Ferelden, protecting nobles from rebel mages and rogue templars?”

“Krem talked me into it,” Bull says. It’s not even a lie. “He’s a good guy. Thought someone should do something about the hole in the sky.”

“So you had nothing to do with that decision? I find that hard to believe.”

“Me? Not so keen on fighting demons.”

“And yet, here you are.” Dorian smiles at him, tilts his head just the slightest bit in a rehearsed move that draws attention to his jawline, makes his pale eyes glint under dark lashes. Not such an easy target after all. Deflect, distract, dissimulate. Bull shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone raised to become a magister after all.

 

~*~

 

If such a thing was possible considering their respective backgrounds and resulting contrary viewpoints on nearly every topic under the sun, and ignoring the fact that Bull is actively looking for an angle on the man, he would describe his relationship with Dorian Pavus as tentatively friendly. Three things happen on the trip to the Fallow Mire to render that void.

One: The Fallow Mire is irrefutably awful in every conceivable way. Also in inconceivable fade-related ways.

Two: Bull doesn’t know how it comes up, but Evelyn mentions to Dorian that Bull is a spy for the Ben-Hassrath. It’s not exactly a secret as far as the Herald’s advisors are concerned, but it’s not common knowledge in Haven, so of course Dorian thought he was Vashoth.

Dorian reacts with predictable anger. “We have a Ben-Hassrath with us? A spy. An actual Qunari spy. That doesn’t strike anyone as a bad thing?” He’s talking to Evelyn, but his raised voice draws the attention of Bull and Varric as well.

“Says a Vint. When we’re fighting Vints,” Bull replies mildly.

“The Venatori are a cult, not a nation. And I’m not one of them.”

“Says you.”

“That’s… not a terrible point.”

“I don’t believe you’re a spy, Sparkler,” Varric interjects.

“Thank you,” Dorian says, pointing at Varric and looking at Bull, like that’s any kind of proof.

Bull decides to give up that line of argument anyway. It’s better to distract from the spy thing than to insist someone else is one, too. Especially when Dorian probably isn’t. “Hey, we’re all working towards the same goal here.”

“Yes!” Dorian shouts angrily. “Great slogan. For how long, I wonder? And what happens if our goals become less convenient?”

“He has a point there, sorry, Tiny,” Varric agrees.

Evelyn sighs. “The Iron Bull was sent to me by Andraste to aid the Inquisition,” she says. As if that was a completely normal thing to say. Absolutely self-evident. It does a fairly good job of ending the argument, because how do you argue against that?

“What?” Dorian turns around to her, his mouth open in disbelief.

Bull would like to ask the same question, but refrains. He? Sent by Andraste? What a joke.

“As were you. And Varric,” Evelyn tells Dorian earnestly.

“Well. That’s an interesting turn of events,” Varric deadpans.

Dorian leaves in a huff.

For a few days, he acts as if Bull might stab him in the back at any moment. The part of Bull that takes Dorian’s behaviour irrationally personal is meanly amused by it. Of course, it doesn’t last forever. Nobody can keep up that level of vigilance constantly, so after a while he gets distracted by something more immediate and calms down.

Nobody of them feels the urge to discuss or even mention the fact that Evelyn is nuts, but they all think it.

Three: Bull sees Dorian fight for the first time since they met. It’s horrible. Not as horrible as Bull’s last few weeks on Seheron. That was a completely different can of worms. But almost as horrible as that one time, in the beginning of his time on Seheron, when they’d had that harvester on their hands and had to raze whole acres of the island with a heretofore unseen amount of gaatlok to get rid of it.

It doesn’t help that Dorian’s incredibly cavalier about raising the freaking dead to fight for him or making his opponents scream in terror with little more than a gesture. Or making opponents living or dead explode, but that’s comparably bearable. It’s wrong, and Bull feels that wrongness to the very core of him.

And so what if Dorian does it specifically to freak Bull out? It works.


	6. A couple of questions

„I can explain it to you, if you think that would help, the necromancy I mean. It seemed to spook you,“ Dorian offers idly from where he’s lying on his back, arms crossed underneath his head, left calf balancing on his right knee. The pose is almost provocatively relaxed, but his left foot twitches in the air as if it would move if it wasn’t restrained by an act of will. Bull doesn’t know why Dorian bothers, the guy’s lying fully dressed on top of his bedding when they’re supposed to be sleeping he’s so on edge. Spooked. For fuck’s sake. Creepy ass fucking Vint saarebas bastard.

Dorian glances at the Iron Bull when he doesn’t receive an immediate answer. It’s just a shift of his eyes, from the ceiling of their shared tent towards Bull on his left. It’s light outside, only late afternoon. Maybe that’s why Dorian isn’t even trying to sleep. Great. They’ve been running trough a wet, corpse-infested wasteland for three days straight with very little rest, and now he’s trapped in a tent with a fucking mage who’s high on whatever unholy energy makes the dead here jump out of the water and try to gnaw on anything that moves.

Bull doesn’t know what to make of Dorian at the best of times. Right now he’s tired and not the least bit in the mood to decode mixed messages and ponder over regular Dorian Pavus related questions like ‘What is he trying to prove now?’ ‘Is he baiting me or is he just naturally annoying?’ or ‘Is he talking to me or to himself?’

“I doubt it would help,” he replies dryly, hoping against better judgement that this might shut him up.

Dorian scoffs and returns his gaze to the point above him he’s been staring at for the last ten minutes. He’s silent for the moment, but it won’t last. Bull can feel it. Dorian radiates nervous energy like a race horse waiting for the start signal. He’s just about dying to tell Bull. Well, maybe not Bull specifically, but Bull has the bad fortune to be here and conscious.

The one thing about Dorian Pavus Bull knows for sure after having spent what amounts to a fortnight within earshot of him is that Dorian cannot contain himself. Just simply cannot. He’s all over the place beneath a paper thin façade of vain aloofness and trying to hide it behind a never ending stream of irrelevant opinions and complaints. It’s ill-disciplined and irritating.

“How necromancy works,” Dorian says. Declaims it really, as if reading aloud the title of some damned essay.

Bull groans. Maybe this _is_ one of the occasions he’s dead set on annoying the ever living crap out of Bull. Nobody can be that much of a pain in the ass by accident.

“It’s not blood magic,” Dorian continues unswervingly.

“I don’t give a shit.” Bull turns from his back to his side. It’s uncomfortable because his horns are in the way and it twists his neck, but maybe turning his back to Dorian will send a message.

Apparently it doesn’t. “It does not rely on sacrifices or demons to work.”

“It’s creepy and wrong now shut up,” Bull whines. He can’t help it. He’s exhausted.

“Do you know what happens after death?”

Don’t answer. Don’t- “Nothing. You’re dead.”

“Well, yes. Simply put. But that’s not the point of my argument.”

Bull gives up and turns back on his back. Breathes deeply. Tells himself that this is a great opportunity to gather intel. “So what? You don’t believe all that shit about sitting at Andraste’s side until the Maker returns and smiles upon you once more? What kind of Andrastean are you?”

“The Tevene kind,” Dorian smirks, “we like to think ourselves gracefully somber and fashionably jaded.”

More like sordid and cynical, Bull wants to say. Instead he has to yawn which is just as good an answer, so he lets it stand.

Dorian, in accordance with the theory that he might as well be talking to any semi-responsive object in his vicinity instead of Bull, ignores him. “It’s the prerogative of the members of the Chantry to kill each other over theological questions,” he says mock cheerfully, “but I think existing for eternity anywhere at all sounds horrible. Better to stop for good. Isn’t that what your people believe in?”

They do. And that is why Bull is a big fan of assuming he’s invincible up until the very moment he’ll finally bite the dust. This way he’ll never have to waste a thought on his own mortality ever. It’s a failsafe system, except when some morbid fucker who thinks metaphysical discussions about death are a nice way to wind down after a long day decides to chew your ear off.

How do you even go from what was looking to become a thorough thaumatological explanation of creepy corpse-reanimating magic to an unexpectedly frank discussion of existential angst? It isn’t the first time Bull marvels at the meandering paths of Dorian Pavus’ reasoning. Bull kind of likes that he can never predict what he might say next, but it also drives him crazy. Make of that what you will.

Bull decides that the question was rhetorical anyway, that the workings of the Chantry of Tevinter and Dorian’s opinion on them are at best mildly interesting and that he might as well point out the obvious problem. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’ve maybe thought about death too much? Because it would be worrying in anyone I need to rely on to watch my back in a fight, but it’s especially disturbing with you considering you’re a walking, talking bag of demons just waiting to explode into an abomination.” Maybe Bull can even make Dorian regret he’s ever started this conversation; that would be a neat side benefit. He remembers too late that talking about demons lies well within Dorian’s comfort zone. Bull will have to get far more personal than that to step on his toes.

“To answer your question: Yes. Concerning everything else you’ve said: Nonsense. If I had a death wish I’d have perished from alcohol poisoning in some brothel when I was seventeen. Instead I studied necromancy.”

“And that makes sense how?” Bull could probably figure it out himself if his brain would still work on full capacity, but it doesn’t and also Dorian will tell him anyway.

He doesn’t though. Or at least he hesitates. That’s interesting.

“Anyway, when you die, your soul, the part of you that is connected to the fade, passes through the veil, at least that is the idea.”

“Nope.”

“Nope?” Dorian sounds offended. “What do you mean by ‘nope’? I know Qunari think they’re not connected to the fade, but that’s-”

“Haven’t the faintest, don’t care. Trying to picture you as an adolescent.”

“We moved on.”

“You tried to change the topic. Says a lot. Would you say you got more or less pesky with age?”

Dorian bats his eyes at him. “What do you think?”

“I think all bas are messed up, but you really take the cake.” At that Dorian smiles as if Bull has paid him a freaking compliment. Messed up indeed. “So what would make a bratty little Magister want to raise the dead? You don’t have to answer, I’ll figure it out.”

The smile falls off Dorian’s face and he sputters something incoherent.

“Well, do go on.” Bull interrupts him and waves a hand at him in a smug imitation of Dorian himself. “How necromancy works. Universally fascinating topic, I’m sure.”

Dorian glowers at him.

“Come on, I’m eagerly waiting for the next seemingly unrelated tangent here. I’m sure it will all come together in the end.”

“Are Qunari allowed to be sarcastic?” Dorian asks caustically.

“Why not? The Ariqun would have to be aware of what sarcasm is to ban it.”

Dorian laughs, an inelegant little snort, utterly sincere. It’s remarkable how he can go from confident to defensive, from angry to amused in the blink of an eye. It makes it difficult to tell what’s really there and what’s just for show.

“You’re really one of a kind, aren’t you?” he asks.

Bull grunts. “No. Just another Qunari drone like all the others.”

Dorian glances at him thoughtfully for a moment, then he looks back up. “I lost the thread. You should go to sleep.”

Well wasn’t that just charming. They should write ‘contrary’ on this one’s tombstone. Bull counted himself lucky and allowed himself to drift off.

 

~*~

 

“So, were you really morbidly obsessed with death or just trying to be scandalous and repulsive?” Bull asks Dorian when they are sitting around a damp, smouldering campfire early the next morning.

Dorian looks up owlishly from where he’s sipping hot tea in a vain attempt to stop shivering. He reminds Bull of the kind of quick little reptiles that cool down over night and need to spend at least an hour in the sun before they can function.

“The fuck, Tiny?” Varric interjects.

So maybe that came out kind of offensive when taken out of context. Might be a good thing that Evelyn is preoccupied with the requisition officer and didn’t hear. She’s very concerned with keeping the peace in the group. At least more so than Varric, who usually seems to enjoy a good argument. “We talked last night,” Bull explains. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it.”

Dorian sighs. He doesn’t look up from the fire as he starts to talk. “The theory is that the soul passes over into the fade, but it doesn’t really, not all of it at the same time at least. Some parts linger.”

“What?” Varric is flabbergasted, looking between Dorian and Bull like somebody might tell him what this is all about.

“Would you say it’s more self-flagellation or is it just your natural reaction to fear to run towards it instead of the other way?” Bull asks mildly.

Dorian ignores him. “Memories, aspirations, all the fears and desires that drive a person, they’re gone. They splinter and reform, much like the body decomposes to feed other things.”

“You know,” Varric says to Bull, “I see what you mean now.”

Bull doesn’t look away from Dorian. “Or is it just another ill-considered grasp for power and glory? I’ve heard your countrymen are fond of dreaming of immortality.”

Dorian throws him a very dirty glance, but he stubbornly continues with his impromptu lecture instead of dignifying Bull with an answer. “The parts that stay are the ones that are most intimately connected to the body, muscle memory, animal instincts, that kind of thing, whatever you want to call it. They’re not demons, not even proper spirits, they have no higher reasoning, no self-awareness. They’re just… the parts that fiercely refuse to die. It’s easy to call them, they want to live so badly.” Dorian sounds unmoved and distant, but underneath that there is something wistful in his voice, an odd sort of compassion.

“I give up,” Varric declares. “You two found a whole new way to have a discussion. My conclusion: Entertaining, but ultimately unproductive.”

“No, I think we’re getting somewhere,” Bull disagrees.

“Do you?” Dorian replies. “I think you’re skull is so thick I could talk myself hoarse and you would still be wilfully ignorant. And I wouldn’t know why you even keep poking around in the dark when you find me so distasteful and hazardous.” He sounds more curious than angry by the end. Bull keeps expecting him to fly off the handle, but Dorian just continuously eludes him with these quicksilver shifts of temper.

“Maybe I just like poking around in the dark,” Bull counters and he makes it sound suggestive because so far innuendo seems to be the most reliable way to get under Dorian’s skin.

“Getting to the bottom you mean?” Dorian asks with that killer smile of his that is fake as anything but no less attractive for it.

And what the fuck?

“Okay,” Varric interrupts, stretching the last syllable in a way that implies he’s washing his hands of this whole situation. He gets up and intercepts Evelyn who was just walking towards them.

Dorian holds Bull’s gaze for a moment longer. Dorian’s not much one for intimidation, at least not the kind that reminds other people that he can burn them to a crisp with a twist of his hand. It’s not about intimidation now either, not exactly, but Bull crossed a line and Dorian’s showing some steel that he hasn’t let anyone see before. Maybe there’s some solid core beneath that airy exterior after all.

Dorian is the first to look away. The slightest relaxing of his posture, a shift of his focused attention away from Bull, but it’s a big change, making him appear smaller somehow; less vibrant than he was only a minute ago. He fixes his eyes on the flames and hides behind his teacup. Back to a harmless little lizard waiting for the sun to rise.

 

~*~

 

The mission goes reasonably well when you can call a bunch of demons, a fuck ton of undead and a clan of Avvar reasonable. Dorian continues to be a creepy fucker on the battle field and a whiney nuisance off it. Whatever comes out of his mouth, if it’s pointed at Bull, it’s very pointed indeed. Though trading barbs with him is at least more fun than listening to him complain about how the dampness makes his moustache lose its shape or other such rot.

At the end of the day, they’re all cold and wet to the skin and sick of it and so Bull keeps quiet and keeps going as they return their missing soldiers to the camp.

That night Varric shares Bull’s tent instead of Dorian. Just as well. “Did you tell the boss we didn’t get along?” Bull asks.

“Nah, I think she wants him to braid her hair, I’m no good at that.”

He can’t quite tell if Varric is serious, but it startles a laugh from Bull, and he needed that.

“What was that argument about anyway?” Varric asks.

Bull shrugs, decides to tell Varric the truth, because he likes him well enough and it doesn’t really matter either way. “I wanted to sleep last night, he wanted to stay awake and talk about creepy shit. I figured if I tried to smother him with his bedroll it would probably end with a burned down camp and I was too tired for that.”

Varric chuckles. “He’s been kind of… jittery since we’re down here, you’re right. Part of that’s because of you, you know. You shouldn’t give him such a hard time. Especially not out of the blue like this morning.”

Bull actually doesn’t know why he’d brought it up again. He’s usually pretty good at letting shit like that roll off his shoulders. There’d been no need to drag their conversation from last night up again the morning after.

“You don’t think Dorian’s…” What? Dangerous? Of course he is, but what of it. A plant for the Venatori? Bull doesn’t actually believe it. The guy’s just… too unlikely. Too soft, in a way. Unreliable? Unstable?

Varric interrupted his thoughts. “Look Tiny, I get that you’re weirded out by magic in general and his fighting style in particular. It is admittedly, well, unsettling, I suppose. On the other hand, you obviously enjoy eviscerating your opponents with an axe. So I’m not sure you’re on the moral high ground here. Let’s just say I’ve seen good people do more fucked up things for worse reasons.”

“Is that supposed to sound reassuring?”

Varric smiles sheepishly. “I guess not.”

They fall silent, but it nags at Bull. “I just don’t get why necromancy. Why would a pampered altus study necromancy?”

Varric frowns. “Why not? I mean he’s not the only one, right? The mortalitasi-“

“Yeah, but he’s not a mortalitasi. I’ve fought a lot of Vints on Seheron and I’ve never seen anybody do what he does. It can’t be that common.”

“There you go, maybe that’s what’s been rubbing you the wrong way.”

Maybe Varric’s right and that’s all there is to it. But it doesn’t answer Bull’s question. “Maybe. I just think it doesn’t fit the picture.”

Varric looks pensive. “So, what you’re trying to say it that you infer from his chosen school of magic that there’s something fundamentally wrong with Dorian Pavus?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Varric says after a moment’s thought, sounding unconvinced. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you grow up a Tevinter Magister in training and then defect to the south to help save the world without having some issues. I guess it’s family stuff, it’s always family stuff in my experience. That, or romance gone terribly wrong. Or both.” He pauses for a moment and Bull can practically watch another of Varric’s trashy books being conceived. “But that said, I actually think he’s okay. Maker knows I’m friends with some really fucked up people and he just strikes me as… a bit sad, drinks too much, doesn’t know when to shut up.”

Bull has no idea what to say to this.

“You on the other hand…” Varric leaves the sentence open, waiting for some cue from Bull, whether he should continue or not.

Bull decides to bite. “What about me?”

“How long have you lived in the south?” Varric answers with a question.

For some reason, Bull is always surprised by how long it has been when he stops to think about it. Six years now? Seven? Yeah, that sounds about right. “Seven years,” he says.

“That’s a long time,” Varric states. “What do you think, how long until they order you back to Par Vollen?” Just an idle question, nothing to see here.

And Bull just- stops. Stops breathing for a heartbeat or two, stops thinking, stops feeling. Just. Stops.

He hates that question. He hates it. And for a moment he hates Varric, because it’s none of his business. He tries to think of something to say, but it’s futile, his thoughts are like a swarm of startled birds, turning in circles, shrieking angrily. His body is tense, and he keeps himself still, because he doesn’t know what he will do otherwise.

Bull calms down. It doesn’t even take much time, over in the blink of an eye.

“Thought so,” Varric says and he sounds sad, sympathetic.

Bull stays silent, wills himself to sleep. Varric got the answer he was looking for anyway.


	7. A sacrifice to the good of the many

Bull sleeps badly, but he doesn’t need to be at his best the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Or, well you get the drift. They return to Haven, so it’s just riding all day, every day. It’s slow going because from the Fallow Mire to Haven it’s uphill basically all the way. At least the weather clears up and Dorian gets less - what did Varric call it? Jittery? - the farther they leave the swamp behind them.

Bull’s bored and itching for a fight, but the only thing that attacks them is a bear. The boss decides it’s not worth the bother and they just spur their horses. The only excitement for almost a week.

“I can’t wait to be back in Haven,” Dorian says on the day they’re to finally reach their destination. He sighs dramatically. “And I can’t believe I just said that. Right now a bath and a fresh set of clothing seem like the pinnacle of luxury. It’s a tragedy what I’ve come to.”

Evelyn laughs. “You’re still mourning the fact that nobody’s going to peel your grapes?”

“Each and every day, Evelyn, each and every day.”

Varric shakes his head, smiling. “How you ever even got to Redcliffe on your own is a mystery for the ages.”

“Nothing but stupid luck, I assure you.”

They find Haven in an odd sort of limbo. Solas has declared the mages ready to attempt closing the breach and now they’re just waiting for the Herald to return. The date is set to the next day, leaving everybody too much time on their hands to wallow in anticipation or apprehension, or anything in between.

Bull falls clearly on the apprehension side. He has the feeling that things are going to go wrong and he just can’t make it stop.

His boys try to cheer him up, fetching him drinks, telling silly stories, and teasing him about the Chantry sister that asked about him while he was gone. Bull’s heart isn’t in it. They’re sitting in their camp, because the Singing Maiden is packed. It seems everybody wants to get drunk tonight.

“Anything wrong?” Krem asks quietly at last, sitting down close to Bull. “Anything happened while you were away?”

“Not really.”

Krem gives him A Look.

Bull shrugs. “The altus found out I’m Qunari. Has been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since. It’s a joke. Man’s a walking nightmare on the battle field. Makes my skin crawl.”

“Did he do anything?” Krem asks with a lot of protectiveness for someone who’s almost two heads shorter than Bull.

“No. Just… a lot of useless arguments. Oh, and the boss thinks we’re all here by divine providence.”

“What else is new?”

“Huh. I knew she’s a fanatic, but that idea would’ve never crossed my mind.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“That she thinks that or that it’s too outlandish to occur to me?”

“Both.”

“Ugh. Honestly, I’m just on edge about tomorrow.”

“You don’t believe everything’s magically getting better?” Krem asks with a smirk.

Bull chuckles. “You know me too well.” He sighs. “No, they’re right dealing with the breach. It’s the most immediate concern. But all that other shit…” He’d shown Leliana’s list to Krem before he went to the Fallow Mire.

“Yeah, it won’t be over tomorrow, there’s too much going on we don’t even know of yet.” Krem bumps his shoulder into Bull’s side. “Anyway, you didn’t think this would be an easy gig when you saw the hole in the sky, did you, Chief?”

“No,” Bull agrees, “you’re right of course. I just hate all that demon shit.”

“I know, Chief,” Krem says and pats his shoulder comfortingly.

A few minutes later Bull turns his head and there, in the corner of his eye he sees Dorian Pavus walking out of the village, heading north. Odd time to take a stroll on your own.

Bull stands up and heads in the same direction as if he’s just going to take a leak. The thought crosses his mind that maybe that’s all Dorian’s up to, but it’s not enough to settle his suspicions.

The moons are out, so it’s pretty bright outside, bright enough that for once the eerie green light of the Breach doesn’t dominate the night. Dorian walks down to the lake. He stands there motionless for a long while, looking out over the frozen water. His breaths are forming little clouds in the air, until Bull can see him shivering with the cold even from afar. Then he sets off north into the woods at a brisk pace. Bull loses sight of him between the trees, but there’s a thin new layer of powdery snow on the ground, and anyway, Dorian seems to follow the path that leads to a small abandoned hut. He enters the hut and doesn’t come out.

What now? Bull stands around for a while, unsure what to do. He walks towards the window and peers in. Dorian sits inside on the floor, eyes closed as if meditating.

“See anything interesting?” an echoing voice right behind Bull asks and his heart almost gives out. He turns around, ready to fight, and sees a weird glowing thing in the shape of Dorian that laughs at him.

“You should see your face,” it says, before it vanishes.

He hears a noise and turns around again to see Dorian standing in the door. He tries to look annoyed, but the corners of his mouth are twitching with glee. “Does the word ‘privacy’ mean anything to you? Oh wait, don’t answer, of course not, you’re a spy. Well, congratulations, you’ve found my most closely guarded secret.” He holds up a bottle. “Ta-dah! A bottle of Dragon Piss I found in the Fallow Mire.”

“What was that?” Bull asks, pointing to the spot behind him where the glowing thing had been.

“Oh that?” he answers, dismissively as you please. “A simulacrum. Of great use when somebody knocks you out or when you want to scare nosy Qunari who follow you around. Now if you’d kindly fuck off, I have some serious drinking to do.”

“Why, you worried about tomorrow?” Bull asks. “Me too,” he adds when Dorian only looks at him with a blank face.

Dorian sighs dramatically and turns away from the door and inside the hut. “Close the door behind you, would you,” he says and Bull takes it as an invitation to follow him inside.

There’s a woodless fire going in a sad little chimney and it’s a lot warmer than outside.

“I was with Evelyn all day,” Dorian says, pacing through the room. “She’s sleeping now.” He takes a swig of the bottle. “I don’t know how to help that girl. What am I supposed to tell her? ‘No, my dear, closing the breach tomorrow will go absolutely fine. There’s no chance it might kill you, in fact it won’t hurt at all.’” He shakes his head, takes another swig. “She’s so brave and so afraid. And she’s looking up to me of all people? How did that happen? She should look up to the others, Cassandra, Josephine or Cullen, or even Leliana. Someone who’ll pray ‘Oh blessed Andraste, pretty please make everything go alright tomorrow’ and then they have done everything there is to do about it. I, instead, am drinking. Same thing really, doesn’t help anything, but makes me feel better.”

“You really care about her,” Bull remarks.

Dorian laughs bitterly. “Nonsense, if I’d truly care I would have bundled her up, put her on a horse, and taken her away from here. But this is too important to bother with the wellbeing of a single person, right?”

“Right,” Bull says. Because it is right, even if it feels wrong. The first time he saw the boss he was reminded of the new Tallis and Vasaad and Sten who arrived on Seheron every three months. At some point he’d gotten awfully good at telling who was going to last the first year and who wasn’t. It’s not that Bull doesn’t care about her, it’s that he can’t afford to. Whatever that mark is that she carries, it gives her a purpose that is bigger than her life. He doesn’t say any of that. He doubts it would go over well with Dorian.

“So, what exactly are _you_ worried about then?” Dorian asks. He sits down on the floor next to the fire without ever letting go of his precious bottle. “That the breach will shit out more demons when we poke at it? Because I bet Varric five royals I don’t have that that’s what will happen.”

“That’s one thing,” Bull admits.

“And the other?”

Bull wonders how to put it in words. “Do you think this whole thing will be over once the breach is closed?”

“Do I look like an optimist?” Dorian asks back and takes another drink. Pauses. “I haven’t really thought about it yet. I only have that one bottle, you know.” He cradles it to his chest and lets his upper body droop against the wall, his head tilted back and a bit to the side to properly see Bull’s face. His expression is inscrutable, his gaze lingering on Bull’s arms on the way up. “And what do the Qunari say about that whole mess, I wonder? I imagine they’re in a right tizzy.”

Bull can’t help but laugh a bit at that choice of words. “Probably. I don’t really know.”

“So what did you tell them about me? ‘The Inquisition acquired a Tevinter mage of unusual talent and singular looks’ I hope.”

“Nah, more like ‘the Inquisition’s new pet magister is a spoiled brat and of no further interest.”

“Ah, to be so misrepresented.” He blinks slowly. “It don’t believe you. You’ve been watching me an awful lot. I’m not sure I like it.”

“So what, you’re telling me to stop?”

“Yes. Yes, I wish that you would.” Dorian looks at the Bull steadily and there’s something charged in his gaze, something searching. He blinks and it’s gone. “Leave me alone, will you?” He makes a languid shooing gesture towards the door with his free hand and closes his eyes.

“You want to sleep here on the floor?” Well, Bull guesses it’s not in fact the worst accommodation in Haven.

Dorian doesn’t open his eyes. “Is that really any of your business?” he asks lightly. “I’m serious. Thank you most graciously for commiserating in my whining about all the ways we are fucked, it was a nice change, not having to talk to myself, or someone who tells me to just trust in the Maker. Now get lost.” Dorian’s words are barbed as always, but he doesn’t sound angry or sarcastic, only tired.

“Hey, anytime,” Bull says before he leaves. And the weird thing is, he means it.

 

~*~

 

Closing the breach goes without a hitch. No demon-shitting at all and Evelyn is fine. There’s a palpable sense of relief, like nobody really believed things would go their way for once. It’s infectious. They stumble into town in a disorderly procession.

Dorian is suddenly next to Bull. “Well, that was anticlimactic,” he says. His eyes linger on the boss, who’s carried in front on the shoulders of devotees like some likeness of Andraste and looks just incandescently happy and accomplished. He tries to muster his usual aloofness, but there’s a giddy smile on his face.

Bull smiles back at him. Part of him is still waiting for everything to go tits up, but it’s not a part he particularly likes, so he tries to ignore it. Nobody needs him to poop on their success. They deserve this, this elation, just a short breather in between hard and thankless work. He just wishes he could feel it.

“Oi, you two!” Sera shouts, elbowing her way towards the front. “Who’s first at the Maiden!”

Bull would probably gore somebody if he tried running through the crowd, but Dorian grins and gives it a shot. Of course he can’t outrun Sera, but he’s pretty good at ducking in between people, sidestepping them as if it’s a dance. Certainly a lot smoother than Sera, who leaves bruises and sometimes climbs on people and uses their shoulders as stepping stones.

It’s a nice celebration. Enough food served up for everyone, music and dance, just not a lot to drink except water. Bull isn’t sure if it’s because they drained their supplies yesterday or if the people in charge are as paranoid as him.

Bull finds his boys among the dancing crowd, sticking together as always. They’re easy to spot, because Grim’s dancing involves a lot of jumping around and because nobody wants to get in Skinner’s and Dalish’s way when they start spinning, so they claim a lot of space. Stitches, Rocky and Krem stand close together and talk about something. From what Bull can pick up, Stitches explains what’s the matter with Andraste’s Mabari. Weird.

Before Bull can join them, he’s intercepted by Varric. “Hey Tiny, you’ve seen Sparkler anywhere?”

Bull shakes his head. “Is this about the bet? Because he told me he doesn’t have the money.”

Varric smiles. “I know. Just thought I’d gloat a bit. Can you see him anywhere?”

Bull has a look around, and yes, there he is. Dorian’s talking, all charm and smiles, to a young man. One of the mages? Most likely. He looks at Dorian as if he’s never seen anything like him. Probably hasn’t, they sure don’t make them like that in the south.

“Over by the Maiden, getting lucky,” Bull reports.

“I assume you mean the tavern. Who is it?”

“Dunno. One of Fiona’s I guess.”

“Well, tell me everything. I can’t look over these people.”

Bull looks down at him. “I could pick you up.”

“No way.”

Bull shrugs. “Human, male, youngish, looks a bit like an underfed scarecrow. All but swooning with admiration.”

“Good for him!” Varric says with a grin. “Sparkler does so like to be admired.”

“You don’t say. …and he’s gone.”

“Who?”

“Dorian.”

“Just like that?”

“Seems so… no, wait, just sneaking off separately.”

“Ooh, very circumspect.”

“Bas are just weird.”

“So, do you want to bring that up later or can I?”

“You do it, he’s been testy with me.”

“And you mind?”

Bull shrugs.

Varric looks at him contemplatively. “You know, you should really make up your mind if you like him or not.”

“Why? Does it matter?”

Varric only shakes his head in exasperation.

 


	8. A major miracle, witnessed under fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, editing this chapter took me forever, but here you go. Hope you're still hanging in there. If so, thank you for your patience. The next chapter will probably be a while as well, since I'm still struggling to improve the pacing.

When everything goes tits up, it does so swiftly and severely. It starts with the alarm being rung. There’s some confusion about what’s going on, but word spreads quickly that they’re under attack by an unknown force.

“Looks like celebratory drinks are on hold,” Bull says, getting up from his seat and grabbing his axe. “Krem, round up the Chargers. Report back to Cullen if you can find him, otherwise do what you think is best. I’ll go find the Herald.”

“Good luck, Chief.” Krem salutes and runs off with the others.

Bull runs up towards the chantry before he spots Evelyn at the gates of Haven’s fortifications, Cassandra and Cullen in tow. They open the gate and step outside. There’s somebody there. Bull only sees him from afar. He comes closer, axe at the ready. It’s a boy, pale and haggard, only a few years older than Evelyn. He doesn’t seem threatening, but there’s something about him that makes Bull’s skin bristle. The way he talks, the way he moves, the way the wide brim of his hat hides his eyes, Bull doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that what remains of the opposing advance party is scattered on the ground and that scrawny kid seems to be the reason.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Bull hears him tell Evelyn.

Bull doesn’t know who ‘he’ or the boy is. However, that’s hardly high on his list of priorities right now.

What he gathers is that it’s an army of templars streaming down the mountain pass.

“Cullen, give me a plan, anything,” Evelyn asks. As always, she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s a bit wide-eyed, but not panicking.

Cullen looks more worried than her. “Haven is no fortress,” he says. “If we ought to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything you can.”

He points them at a trebuchet that’s under attack before he goes to rally the troupes. Bull has to give it to him, he makes a good figure as a commander, though it’s obvious that they’re vastly outnumbered and still in considerable disarray.

Their odds aren’t great. The templars turn out to be grotesque crystalline monsters, but they’re still well-trained and have superior armour and weapons. In contrast, the majority of the Inquisition’s forces consist of fresh recruits with shit swords and former Circle mages that are hardly ready to face a horde of templars in an open battle.

Evelyn runs over to the trebuchet and talks to the people manning it like there’s no fighting going on. Bull swallows his annoyance and keeps close. The trebuchet stands on slightly higher ground, with a row of sharpened poles as fortification in front of it. It’s not much, but it forces the oncoming fighters to swerve to the left or right. It’s as good a defensible position as they’re going to reach in the rush, so Bull starts to cut down as many attackers as he can on his side, while Cassandra takes the other. The few who slip through are killed by the recruits, the mages giving aid from behind the front line.

Dorian appears beside them, a grim smile on his face. “And I was having such a nice time.”

“Yeah?” Bull grunts, staggering an enemy with a kick that he’ll feel in his knee later and cutting his head off with a swing of his axe. “Bit help maybe?”

The moment he turns around to look at Dorian there’s already that eerie purple glow all around them. The bodies that litter the ground rise and wander into the enemy lines where they explode. And maybe Bull’s learning to appreciate that sick shit, so what? There’s a moment of confusion among the enemy, but they rally quickly and target Dorian, who’s standing right there like an idiot. It’s what you get with someone who’s more used to fighting one on one than fighting in battle.

Before Bull can yell at him to keep moving or get the fuck away from the frontline, Dorian’s hit by a smite and goes down. Bull curses and tries to get closer, but he’s swarmed by a new wave of templars and has his hands full fighting them off. He can see others close in on Dorian who’s slow to shake off the effect. There’s no way for Bull to get to him in time and for a second or two it looks as if that’s it, but then his opponents drop like flies. Sera crows triumphantly. She darts from her vantage point on the gate to the trebuchet and climbs onto it, sending flurries of arrows into the enemy lines. The Chargers are right behind her and position themselves to relieve Bull and Cassandra.

That’s the moment when the trebuchet finally shoots. The shell explodes on impact among the oncoming forces, shrapnel and burning tar tearing a breach through them. The resulting chaos and the reinforcement give Bull enough breathing room to grab Dorian and fall back to the trebuchet. He seems to be okay as far as Bull can tell, just unable to cast for the moment and hissing and spitting about it like an angry cat.

“The south trebuchet hasn’t fired yet. We’ll need to retake it,” Evelyn shouts as they come close, jumping down from the thing and dropping to the ground in front of Bull.

“What are you even doing on the front line?” Dorian shouts back, entirely missing the irony.

Evelyn frowns. “I’m not a child!” she says stubbornly.

Bull ignores them for now, looking for Krem. He’s close by, swinging his maul at an opponent. “Krem, what’s the situation? Did you find Cullen? Where is he now?” Bull asks when he doesn’t seem busy for a moment.

“Not sure. Last I saw him he was heading south with two score of recruits to protect the flank. Don’t know if they’ll do any good though. Orders are to buy time, use the trebuchets to thin them out, and retreat towards the chantry. Line of defence is still standing for now, but barely. This isn’t looking good.”

Bull agrees, but there’s no point in saying so. “Apparently we’re going to retake the south trebuchet. What do you think we split the Chargers and you hold this one for as long as possible, let them get a few good shots in, meet me back at the chantry. You get a bunch of shitty battle mages and green soldiers for free, don’t let them die.”

Krem smiles grimly. “Sucks, but fuck if I have a better idea. Horns up, Chief!”

“Horns up!” Bull bellows. “Skinner, with me. Dorian, you still out of commission?”

“I’m fine,” Dorian says. He doesn’t quite look it, but Bull’s just going to have to take his word for it.

“Let’s go!” Evelyn runs off, Bull and Cassandra flanking her, Dorian behind them. Skinner and her rogues swarm out, slipping through the enemy line unseen and ambushing them. Between that and more of Dorian’s exploding corpses they manage get their hands on the trebuchet in good time. Holding the thing is a lot of work though. Dorian, who seems to act slightly more cautious now, concentrates on laying magical traps and casting barriers on everyone in sight. Evelyn fiddles with the trebuchet. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to ready it. It’s aimed at the flank of the mountainside to the left of the incoming army. “Andraste guide my hand,” Bull hears her say as she triggers the shot.

Bull knows that all gods are illusions, but fuck if Evelyn isn’t one remarkably lucky girl. The shot is nothing if not perfect. It triggers an avalanche that comes crashing down the mountain, flowing into the valley like a breaking wave. It buries a good part of the enemy forces underneath it and restricts the ones that come after them to picking their way through debris or climbing along the opposite mountainside, rendering them essentially useless.

“Praise the Maker,” Cassandra shouts with a relieved smile.

Dorian laughs. “Evy, you marvel!”

Suddenly there’s a bloodcurdling screech from above them, then the flapping of giant wings, a hollow whistle as they cut through the air. It’s a dragon. Or better, the corrupted, rotting corpse of a dragon. It’s sad, because Bull would have appreciated fighting a proper dragon. This thing? Not so much. All they can do is jump out of its way to save their skins as it swoops down and destroys the trebuchet like it’s made of so much tinder. Then it rises up into the air again. For now.

“Was that an archdemon?” Dorian asks snidely. “Because that would be just the thing to make my day perfect.” He sounds shaken underneath his bravado. Of course he does.

“Whatever it was, we need to retreat,” Cassandra advises. Bull agrees wholeheartedly, and even Evelyn’s blithe disregard for danger seems to have suffered a setback. That’s just the kind of effect you’d expect from a fire breathing reptile the size of a small house.

On their way to the gate the only living soul they meet is Harritt who has his priorities all wrong and tries to get inside his workshop instead of running to save his hide like a reasonable person. Bull clears the way with a blow of his axe and Harritt is thankfully quick to return, following them towards the gate. The north trebuchet lies abandoned now, no sign of Krem, who Bull can rely on to call the retreat at the sight of a surprise dragon.

As they enter through the gate into Haven, Cullen is there, closing it behind them and sending them up to the chantry. “It’s the only building that might stand a chance against that beast,” he says grimly. “At that point… just make them work for it.” He takes off in that direction.

“Well, isn’t he a ray of sunshine,” Dorian comments as soon as Cullen’s back is turned and Bull has the epiphany that despite all appearances to the contrary, Dorian is in fact a die hard optimist.

He isn’t the only one. “We need to help evacuate the town,” Evelyn shouts and runs towards the sounds of fighting coming from their right. Bull thought they’d follow Cullen up the hill, but apparently not. He looks around. “Skinner, we got this. Take your people up there with Cullen and prepare for a siege on the chantry.” She nods and disappears in a cloud of smoke.

 

Dorian’s on Evelyn’s heels, overtaking her and casting spells at a handful of attackers that are locked in battle with one of their templars. “We should bring you straight to the chantry,” he counters as soon as he’s got a second to draw enough breath. He probably thinks there’s no such thing as a bad time to pick a fight.

There’s no reply since one of the fighters has spotted Evelyn as an easy target and is heading towards her. Dorian curses and casts a barrier on her at the same moment Cassandra charges and staggers the attacker, taking him out quickly.

Bull comes to the aid of their templar, a woman he remembers occasionally seeing among the Inquisition’s recruits, but has never talked to. She’s not holding up too badly against the superior forces, but shoots him a grateful glance. Together the four of them manage to cut down the intruders.

“Up on the wall,” Dorian warns them just when Bull thinks they’re done, pointing at more enemies climbing over Haven’s weak defences. Dorian shoots fire and lightning at them, stopping most of them before they can get inside, leaving Bull and the others with a manageable number of opponents. The fighting is over quickly, their attackers drawing back for now.

“Lysette, retreat to the chantry,” Cassandra orders the templar and she keeps close as they run up the hill. As they pass a burning house, they hear somebody shout for help and Evelyn takes off, climbing up the side of the house and disappearing into it. Cassandra starts hacking at the debris blocking the door, while Dorian, Bull and Lysette are engaged by a new wave of red templars, struggling to fight them off as Evelyn drags that crook of a merchant out of the house.

“Lysette, take him,” Evelyn orders, handing the wounded man over to her. “The rest with me.”

“Evelyn-” Dorian starts, but she cuts him off.

“No!” she shouts. “I’m the Herald of Andraste, you will listen to me!” The mark on her hand crackles with green light. For a moment she doesn’t look the least bit young or defenceless. She looks like someone on a divine mission, someone who believes herself invincible. Bull’s seen people like that before on Seheron. Knows that that kind of faith can work like a charm, until it doesn’t. “We’ll leave no one behind, Dorian,” Evelyn adds in a more conciliatory tone.

It’s the right thing to say where a show of force didn’t do much to impress him, the mutinous look leaving Dorian’s face. “Very well, lead on,” he says, with an unhappy tilt to his lips.

They hurry up towards the place in front of the chantry, where Lysette splits of from their group when they’re attacked by a group of red templars coming from behind the chantry. Bull sees the quartermaster Threnn in between the onslaught, struggling to fight off her opponents. He throws himself into the fight, laughing when Krem shows up to fight beside him.

“Good to see you’ve finally made it,” Krem says when there’s finally a lull in attacks. “A few of us are heading out again. Adan and Minaeve didn’t return from getting supplies from the apothecary and Varric wanted to go in search of Flissa. You’ve seen any of them?”

Bull shakes his head. “We came the other way around. Hey Evelyn,” he shouts, “Varric and Krem have a search party all set, any chance you want to stay here?”

She makes a surprisingly rude gesture at him for a sweet Chantry girl and ignores him. “Touchy,” he says to Krem.

They head away from the chantry again, the search party in tow. Apart from Varric and Krem it consists of a few of Bull’s boys as well as Sera and Madame de Fer, the latter looking as if she’s on the way to a dance and all that fire and fighting around her is only a mild inconvenience. They get a good look at what’s left of Haven as they head down the hillside. The village below them is shrouded in acrid smoke. It doesn’t even look like a village any longer, just like so much burning debris. In an instant, the dragon appears, gliding low above them. They scatter, but it doesn’t seem to notice them. It spits fire at the few remaining buildings and they can see flames rising up ahead.

There are still some red templars to fight, but it seems to be getting quieter for now, the enemy troops withdrawing from the ruined village, most likely to gather in preparation for the siege on the chantry. Their numbers are large, but not overwhelming, not after the avalanche cut off the majority of their forces. Bull thinks they could probably hold up against the templars in a siege long enough to organize a proper sortie and retreat, and their chances wouldn’t be so bad. But against them and that dragon Bull gives them an hour at most. It’ll be a massacre. Bull pushes the thought away. He’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. Right now they’ve spotted Adan and Minaeve lying unconscious in between the debris from the dragon attack, the fire threatening to reach a wagonload of what looks to be artillery shells for the trebuchets.

“Minaeve,” Cassandra cries, running to the woman’s side, Krem on her heels, while Evelyn and Dorian struggle to move Adan away from the explosives. Madame de Fer, cool as you please, casts ice to extinguish the flames.

In the meantime Varric has run off with Sera to investigate the Singing Maiden. They come out of the side door only moments before the roof of the burning house collapses, carrying Flissa between them.

“Was that everyone?” Evelyn asks the group at large when they finally reconvene.

“Hard to tell, it’s a madhouse inside the chantry,” Varric answers.

“And dark as an ogre’s arsecrack,” Skinner says sullenly, “I’d much rather die out here.”

Krem elbows her into the ribs, whispers something too low for any of the others to understand. Skinner elbows him back and sneers. “Did I say dark? I meant smelly. Shems are disgusting.” Skinner’s always had a weird way of showing affection.

Cassandra ignores them, as does everyone else. Or at least they try very hard. “There’s no time to search the whole village,” she says. “We need to find refuge now before it’s too late.”

Everybody, even Evelyn, reluctantly agrees that it’s time to wrap up their rescue mission and retreat to the questionable safety of the chantry. The fighting picks up again on their way back, the remaining enemy forces now converging on their last line of defence. Their party is small, but they hit hard and manage to move swiftly even with the wounded. In the end, they make it through the doors of the chantry with everyone in reasonably good shape. As far as Bull is concerned it’s a minor miracle.

They’re ushered by that sanctimonious Chantry bigwig, Chancellor Roderick. He sports a stomach wound and doesn’t look or smell as if he’s going to make it through the night.

A boy with a wide-brimmed hat on his head catches the man as he stumbles and helps him to a chair. “He tried to stop a templar,” the boy intones in a monotone voice. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” He gives Bull the creeps.

“What a charming boy,” Roderick says wryly.

Cullen appears from the back of the building, looking worried. “Herald, our position is not good. That dragon sold back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” the boy speaks dreamily from where he kneels next to the Chancellor. “I was in the fade, but it looked like that.”

Cullen seems to share Bull’s opinion that this boy is suspicious and his information isn’t the least bit helpful at the moment. “I don’t care what it looks like, it’s cut a path for that army,” he bellows. “They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

The boy appears undaunted. “The Elder One doesn’t care for the village. He only wants the Herald,” he says.

Evelyn stands straighter. “If it will save these people, he can have me.”

“It won’t,” the creepy boy says with calm sadness. “He wants to kill you, nothing else matters. But he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

Cullen stares at him with a look of blank astonishment on his face. It would be funny if they weren’t all going to die. “You don’t like-” He cuts himself off with a disparaging sound and turns back to Evelyn. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets to cause one last slide.

“We’re overrun,” Evelyn retorts. “To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven.”

“We’d die,” Cullen confirms. “But we could decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

Going by the frown on her face, Evelyn doesn’t like that plan, and neither, it seems do Dorian and Cassandra. Bull isn’t particularly partial to dying in an avalanche himself, so he’s kind of glad that Dorian has no respect at all for authority and a very short fuse right now. “Well, that’s not acceptable,” he spits at Cullen. “I hardly fought all night only to have you drop rocks on my head.”

“Should we submit?” Cullen asks irritably. “Let him kill us?” It’s faulty reasoning, boiling it down to two options only. Maybe there’s no other way, but it’s clear that Cullen isn’t even looking for one.

Dorian’s having none of it, getting into his face. “Dying is usually a last resort, not first. For a templar, you think like a blood mage!”

With that cheap shot, the two square off. Bull would pay money to watch that fight, but it’s hardly the right time, and he can see that Cassandra is ready to jump in and break them up. Before anyone can do anything stupid, they are interrupted by the boy. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

That draws the attention of everybody to Roderick who begins to talk in a weak voice. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it. Unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have.” He stands up from his seat, bowed with pain, and steps in front of Evelyn. “The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me, so I can… tell you.”

“What did she show you?” Evelyn asks, her face glowing with hope.

“It was a whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know, Herald. If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. You could be more.”

She doesn’t seem impressed that Roderick’s still doubting her, but she lets it drop. “What about it, Cullen, will it work? I’ll get out and trigger the avalanche, maybe stop them, at least buy enough time for you to get everyone out.”

“Possibly,” Cullen answers. He doesn’t seem relieved about that new option so much as exhausted and Bull decides that if they manage to escape, he’ll have to have more of an eye on the Commander. “If he shows us the path. But what of your escape?”

Evelyn doesn’t answer, instead turning towards the closed chantry door.

“Perhaps you can surprise it,” Cullen says finally, “find a way.” He doesn’t sound too convincing, but then he turns away and gives orders for the evacuation of the chantry through whatever path Roderick was talking about.

“Herald,” Roderick whispers, propped up on the boy and ready to leave. Evelyn turns to him. “If you are meant for this. If the Inquisition is meant for this. I pray for you.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Evelyn says. “May Andraste guide you.”

They disappear in the shadows as they slowly shuffle towards the back of the building. The news about the escape route spreads quickly, and everywhere around them people are starting to move, getting ready to flee the building.

Krem comes up to Bull. “We’re ready, Chief, you’re coming?”

Bull shakes his head. “Sorry Krempuff, I’ll go with the boss. You see that everyone gets out safe.” Evelyn will need all the help she can get, but Bull won’t ask his company to run headfirst into certain death.

Krem’s face falls. “Shit,” he curses, but he keeps it together. Bull can see his jaw clench, holding in all the things he wants to say, but he knows it wouldn’t change Bull’s mind. “You’re an asshole, Chief,” he finally grits out. “I’ll better see you on the other side of this. Horns up!” He turns around and runs off before Bull has a chance to reply anything.

“Horns up!” Bull shouts after him.

Cullen comes back with a few men. “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.” Bull eyes them carefully. They’re no seasoned fighters, but at least they look like they know what they signed up for and aren’t going to run off at the first opportunity, so that’s one weight off his mind.

Cullen must have dragged up some hope from a hitherto untouched well, because he manages to look Evelyn in the eye and say: “If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

And with that, they’re off.

“We need to be noticed,” Dorian says as they leave the chantry through the front door, “happens to be a specialty of mine.” He tries to sound as glib and aloof as always, but his nerves are showing now. There’s a frantic edge to his voice and he looks wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t quite know how he came to be part of this suicide mission. Bull thinks for someone who obviously never fought in a battle on this scale he’s been holding up pretty well. Cassandra is better of course, practiced, focussed and deadly. And Evelyn, well, she’s gone insane, no two ways about it. Bull smiles grimly. What a way to go!

 


	9. A reminder that all struggle is illusion

They fight their way through wave upon wave of crystalline red monsters. No sign of the dragon for now, but even so getting down the hill isn’t quick or easy. Every now and then they need to take a detour when their path is blocked by smouldering wood and other debris, or larger groups of enemies. When they finally reach the trebuchet, Bull, Cassandra, and Dorian defend the position while Evelyn and Cullen’s men go straight for the trebuchet, getting it ready to shoot.

The number of attackers coming at them seems to increase steadily, or maybe they’re just slowing down. At some point Dorian starts throwing around horror spells, but Bull’s got the feeling it only helps to anger these things. At least when they’re angry they lose their focus and what little rational thinking they’ve left. Makes them easier for Cassandra and Bull to engage and for Dorian to take down from afar. All while Evelyn and the soldiers load the trebuchet and aim it at the mountainside right behind the chantry building. Bull’s aware that aiming a trebuchet is no trivial task. It needs careful calculations and a lot of experience, and it takes its time. He just wishes they’d be a bit quicker about it.

His urgency seems almost like a premonition when the dragon shows up suddenly, swooping down and breathing fire at them. Bull jumps out of the way, getting back up again quickly. The trebuchet is still standing and Evelyn is lying in front of it. Bull can’t see if she’s injured from where he’s standing. Everybody else is getting back on their legs as well, and start to run towards her, when the dragon circles back and lands. It cuts off their way and hides Evelyn behind its massive body. Its giant ugly head faces them. It stinks. Bull once watched a horse’s cadaver rip open with gases after it had lain in the hot sun of Seheron for a few days. That’s what it smells like when the dragon screeches at them.

Dorian seems more offended than cowed by the horrible thing. He hurls a ball of fire at it which only stuns it momentarily.

“Run!” Cassandra shouts at him, before the dragon answers with a new blast of flames and dashes towards them with surprising speed for something its size.

Dorian runs. He struggles to keep his distance as he batters the thing with a volley of spells, while Bull and Cassandra try to get close enough to get a hit in. They make no noticeable progress in harming the dragon or in getting past it. Every time one of them moves in the direction of the trebuchet to get to the others, it charges at them, driving them backwards.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Cassandra finally shouts. “Let’s see if we can lure it further away and double back.”

They retreat, but instead of following them any further, the dragon disengages.

“Kaffas,” Dorian curses, running after it, Bull and Cassandra right behind him. They can see Evelyn now, facing away from them. In front of her stands a tall figure surrounded by flames. Among the smoke and shimmering heat it’s hard to make out any details from afar, but Bull remembers somebody talking about the leader of the Red Templars. The one who’s angry and after Evelyn for whatever happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The dragon has returned to its master’s side, watching, waiting for orders. Suddenly Dorian comes to a dead stop in front of the Bull, stretching out his staff and hitting Bull’s chest with it as he tries to move past him.

“A barrier,” Dorian pants, out of breath “Don’t touch it.”

Cassandra has come to a halt on Dorian’s other side and apparently needs no help to detect an invisible magical barrier. “Purge seems to have no effect on it. Can you dispel it?” she asks.

Dorian casts a barrier on himself, waves his staff at the invisible wall-thing in front of them. Whatever he hit it with seems to backfire. Dorian’s thrown back at least a dozen feet, hitting the ground roughly. He’s cursing a blue streak as he gets up and comes back to them, which probably means he’s okay. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” He says shaking his head. “If that’s the doing of this Elder One, he’s not your run-of-the-mill magister.”

“Evelyn!” Cassandra shouts suddenly. They can only watch helplessly as the creature lifts the boss up by her arm and throw her at the trebuchet. She hits a wooden beam and crumbles to the ground like a broken doll.

“No, no, no,” Dorian murmurs.

“Look,” Bull says, eyes fixed on the spot she landed. There’s movement. “I think she’s getting up.” She does, one of the soldiers’ swords in her hand. She says something, her mouth moving, her body shrouded in smoke. Then she swings the sword at the rope holding down the arm of the trebuchet. It fires. The arm swinging in a wide arc- and stops.

There’s a lurching sensation in the pit of Bull’s stomach. Suddenly they’re enveloped in light the shade of sunlight falling through leaves. The sounds of the battle field are silenced.

“We need to reach the chantry,” Dorian says urgently, “before we’re buried alive. Move.” He has his left hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and pushes her forwards while using his staff again to herd Bull along. It takes Bull a few seconds to shake off the feeling of vertigo.

“What is this?” Cassandra asks, even as they start to walk, picking up tempo quickly.

Dorian grins sharply, every line of his body tense with concentration. “I’m slowing down time so we can possibly make it. Please don’t distract me with inane questions.”

“What about-?” Bull starts to ask.

Dorian shakes his head, clenching his teeth. “You got an idea how to get to her?” he retorts bitterly.

Bull hasn’t. It sucks. He hates leaving people behind.

They barely make it in time. The world around them is dark against the bright light of Dorian’s spell, and blurred, but Bull can see the explosion of the hitting shell, a bright orange light reflected by the snow. He can watch the mountainside come down on them with a slowness that makes it look almost peaceful. As they reach the entrance of the chantry he glances up for the last time. Rock and snow hover above them, floating down as if they were under water.

Inside the building Dorian stumbles. The light flickers off, on again. Dorian catches himself and hurries onward as if nothing happened. They barely make it to the back of the building, Cassandra leading the way now, when the light goes out entirely. Dorian collapses and Bull can do little more than catch him before he lands face first on the floor. Bull can feel the ground vibrate under his feet now. The roar of the avalanche sounds like thunder. It hits the chantry with a noise so loud Bull can only compare it to the sound of a gaatlok cannon, but it’s deeper than that, it shakes the earth. By some kind of miracle the building withstands, plaster and stones raining down from the ceiling, but the roof doesn’t cave, at least not immediately.

Bull lifts Dorian over his shoulder and carries him down a flight of stairs, following Cassandra into a crypt or dungeon underneath the chantry. It’s too dark to see properly. There’s just one single torch left burning. It’s close to the entrance to a tunnel, left there by the others to light their way.

“This way,” Cassandra says, taking the torch from its hold on the wall. “Let’s hope it’s still intact.”

The tunnel is low and narrow, hewn right into the stone. Or maybe it’s not so for Cassandra, who walks at a brisk pace, a hand’s width of space on each side and over her head. It’s hell on Bull, especially carrying a half-conscious man. He manages a few dozen paces before he gives it up.

“Stop,” he says. He lets Dorian slide down from his shoulder and props him up against the tunnel wall. “We’ll have to wait until he can walk on his own.”

“Of course I can walk on my own,” Dorian claims, but his speech is slurred and his gaze unfocused.

Cassandra turns around and crouches in front of him to scrutinize him, her mouth turned down in worry. “Will you be alright?”

“In an instant. Just a bit of patience if you please.”

They sit and wait, and it’s not good, Bull thinks. All of them are somewhat numb with shock, they can’t afford to take a break right now.

“I’m sure glad that spell worked,” Dorian breaks the silence.

Cassandra actually smiles. “That was quite something. Though I guess I shouldn’t be happy about you messing with time magic.”

Dorian chuckles, then sighs. “I’ll just have to be the only one to properly appreciate my genius.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining, am I?” Bull objects.

Dorian doesn’t answer, already struggling to get on his feet. He leans heavily on his staff, but he seems steady enough and determined to go on.

They continue on their way, the tunnel sloping upwards after a while. Cassandra walks in front with the torch in hand, glancing back at them frequently so she doesn’t get too far ahead. Dorian is slow, but not as slow as Bull, who has to shuffle through the too small tunnel in a sort of sideway crouch.

“Do you think they took Alexius with them?” Dorian suddenly asks. There’s something in his voice that makes Bull think he’s ready to turn around and get him if the answer is no. Not that there’s any way could get past Bull.

“Don’t worry, big guy. I think after today Leliana has about a thousand new questions for him, so I doubt she left him behind.” Bull doesn’t know if it’s true, but it’s probable and anyway, he’s not going to go back for that bastard.

“Right,” Dorian says. He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he isn’t in any shape to fight Bull over it and he knows it.

Whether it’s an aftereffect of Dorian’s magic or just a result of how fucking uncomfortable Bull is, he can’t tell how long they walked when they reach stairs leading steeply upwards. The tunnel doesn’t get any wider, but it’s actually easier for Bull because this way he can just use his hands to climb up. Dorian flags after a while. He’s breathing too hard, no use in pushing on. They stop, and sit down on the cold stone stairs.

“These templars,” Dorian says after a while. He’s looking at Cassandra, but there’s something distant in his gaze. He speaks slowly, like his thoughts are far away. “Was that red lyrium? That’s what Leliana called it, right? The stuff that was everywhere in the future Alexius sent us to. They grew it in living bodies there as well. I told you that.” He nods to himself, turns his head to stare at Bull. He blinks. “It doesn’t sound like lyrium at all.”

“Yes,” Cassandra answers grimly. “I could hear it, too. It’s… dissonant. Corrupted. We need to find out what happened to the templars and if it can be undone.”

Dorian is quiet for a moment before he asks: “Do you think Evelyn could have saved them, if she hadn’t chosen to go to Redcliffe instead?”

Cassandra made an impatient sound. “Maybe. Maybe not. There is no sense in asking such questions. What’s done is done.”

Dorian goes still. “Only that’s not quite true, is it?” His voice is very soft, almost a whisper, but he meets Cassandra’s gaze unflinchingly.

Bull sighs. “Do I have to hit you over the head?” he asks.

Dorian growls angrily. “Why can’t you see? What if this is not how it’s supposed to be? What if Evelyn isn’t supposed to-” His voice breaks.

Lightning quick, Bull catches Dorian by the front of his robes and pushes him against the wall he’s leaning against. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to hurt. “Will you stop?” he snarls. “Nothing is as it’s supposed to be. Not ever, do you hear me? There are always people suffering and dying. There’s always something going wrong for somebody, no matter what you do. It’s not your place to decide what happens. It’s not your place to decide who lives or dies. Cullen’s men were on that trebuchet as well when the dragon attacked. Would you think about saving them, if Evelyn was with us? Do you understand? It is not. Your. Place.” Bull lets him go as suddenly as he grabbed him and draws back, adding in a friendlier tone. “And it’s not your fault either. So just stop with the fucking time magic already. It’ll only make everything worse.”

Dorian slumps forwards, hiding his head in his hands.

Cassandra makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat, but she doesn’t seem angry.  “He’s right,” she says gruffly, lightly putting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “I trust that the Maker guides our steps. Everything will be as he wills it.”

Dorian scoffs. Or sobs. It’s hard to tell. He breathes deeply, once, twice, then gets up off the ground. “Let’s go,” he finally says, and there are definitely tears in his voice, but also new resolve.

They go.

The stairs end. For a few paces the tunnel continues in a gentle slope downwards before it ends rather abruptly in a sheer cliff face maybe twenty feet above the ground. Beneath them, barely visible, a narrow path winds back and forth along the rock, leading downwards. It’s night, snow is falling, and icy wind blows. The ground is treacherous, but they make it down safely. Even with the low visibility, the path in front of them is clear, a thick layer of snow trampled down by a large group of people, not too long ago.

As they follow the track Bull watches Dorian. He doesn’t look like his usual cocky self. He’s leaning on his staff like he can barely keep himself going, shoulders drawn up against the cold, head bowed down. Exhaustion and defeat.

Bull remembers what it felt like, when failure hurt like that, so many years ago now. What did they tell him then, to make it better? That he was only a tool for a higher purpose. He knew that, he’d just forgotten for a moment. A tool doesn’t have an understanding of what it helps create, it is not in control. And so it cannot fail. It can break, but that’s not its fault either. And finally, it can be repaired, or made into something new. For Bull these are good thoughts, but they’re not what Dorian needs to hear. He wouldn’t understand.

At this very moment it seems crucial to Bull that he find the right words, though if you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to explain why. They don’t have to walk for a long time to catch up to the refugees of Haven, and Bull spends all of that way thinking about what to tell Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so done with this chapter. I'm sure I'll still make some small changes at some point, but not now. NOT. NOW.


	10. A resurrection

The track seemed to simply have stopped at the first halfway decent spot to set up camp, out of the wind and the worst of the snow, between some overhanging rocks and a few half-grown pine trees. They’ve managed to get a few fires going. The fresh wood is smoking like crazy, but people don’t seem to care as they sit around them huddled together, blank-eyed. Waiting. For dawn, for the weather to clear, for a miracle. They show barely a reaction to their arrival.

Josephine is the first one to spot them and to come meet them. She’s more frazzled at the edges than Bull has ever seen her, her hair in disarray and eyes wide. In an untypical display of emotion, she hugs Cassandra, before stepping back again quickly. There’s an awkward moment, because apparently showing relief about the unexpected survival of a fellow campaigner isn’t proper etiquette. Oddly enough, she still has her writing utensils with her, and she clings to them as if her life depends on them. She seems at a loss for words for a moment, taking in the three of them, the look on their faces, before she settles on: “I’m glad you’ve made it. It’s good to have you here.” It sounds perfectly heartfelt. She doesn’t have to ask after Evelyn.

Without a word Dorian turns away from them and leaves, walking towards the fires, disappearing into the crowd. Confused, Josephine’s gaze follows him as he goes, before she looks at Cassandra and Bull questioningly.

“Leave him be. For now,” Cassandra says.

Josephine seems content with this, as she has other things on her mind. “The Commander has left with a group of volunteers to see if they could find any survivors of the Herald’s party,” Josephine says, before turning to Bull. “Lieutenant Aclassi and five other members of your company insisted on accompanying them. You will find the rest of them over there.” She pointed him in the right direction. “Cassandra, if you could join Leliana and me in organizing the camp, there’s still a lot to be done.”

“Of course,” Cassandra says, and they run off, leaving Bull to his own devices. He goes to find his Chargers. They’ve lost eight people in the fighting, and their spirits are accordingly low, but they perk up some now it’s clear he’s still around.

Apart from Bull’s company, who number around forty now, Bull counts hardly more than three hundred people. He doesn’t even know exactly how many had been in Haven at the time of the attack. Between new recruits and refugees from the surrounding areas joining the Inquisition every day and others leaving, Haven’s population had been in a state of flux. But there was no doubt that too many of them had died tonight. It’s a harsh blow. Most of these people barely held it together after the devastation following the Conclave explosion. They’ve worked hard to salvage whatever they could, and now they’d lost everything all over again. There’s no food, no clothes that are warm enough for the cold of the mountains, too many injured. The night doesn’t seem to end.

Bull keeps busy until he stumbles upon Dorian. Something about the way he’s sitting in his own little bubble of space, staring into the flames, stops Bull in his tracks. There’s a stillness to him that is unnerving. Bull has the thought that it isn’t in his nature to be that still. It’s an irrational thought. Bull doesn’t know the first thing about Dorian Pavus. Anyway, he sits down next to him, dropping to the cold ground with a grunt, the joints in his knees protesting. He’ll be in so much pain tomorrow. Blasted tunnel. Blasted cold.

Dorian glances at him before looking back into the flames. “To think that only a few hours ago I thought everything was going to be alright,” he says hollowly.

Bull frowns. “That’s just life, isn’t it. You’re happy until you’re not.”

“Please. Stop inflicting truisms on me. I can’t stand it right now.” Maybe he means it to sound sarcastic, maybe exasperated. It comes out rough and despairing instead.

Bull is quiet for a moment. Then: “Sorry for pushing you around back there. Tense situation, all that.”

Dorian turns a bit to the side and looks up at Bull’s face straight on. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually genuine or just full of shit,” he says, with only a hint of his usual sharpness. “But anyway. You weren’t entirely wrong, I suspect. I just- I should have stopped her.”

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to stop her. She wouldn’t have let you.”

“She was too young. They pushed her into this. Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana.” There’s no anger in the way he says it, no reproach, only a sort of dull disappointment.

“Maybe,” Bull replies. “Nothing you could have changed. Nothing you can change about it now. You didn’t make her sacrifice herself. You just wanted her safe, you said so. She’s the one who didn’t listen to you.”

Dorian looks at him with a complete lack of understanding. “How can you say that?”

Bull shrugs, trying to find the right words. “This isn’t about her, or me. It’s about you. You keep telling yourself you did something wrong when you didn’t. Whatever happens next, we have no time for that, so the way I see it, you need to stop.”

Dorian looks back at the fire, his brows creased in thought. “It’s not that easy.”

Bull thinks. “Look at them,” he finally says, tilting his head at the people around them. Dorian doesn’t, keeps his eyes straight ahead stubbornly, but he’s listening, Bull can tell. “You need to think about how narrow that tunnel was. How long it would have taken for everyone to get through. How nobody was left behind, no matter how badly injured. It must have been very difficult, keeping calm, waiting for their turn to go through, being patient when somebody slowed down or lost their footing on the long way up. Can you imagine?”

Dorian doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He’s picturing it. He cannot help it, Bull suspects he has the kind of overactive mind that pounces on every new idea and follows up on every thought.

Bull continues: “They did it. In the end, Evelyn bought them enough time. We bought them enough time. And then, against all odds, you saved two more lives. Wouldn’t you say you did well, all things considered?”

Dorian only shakes his head, looking torn.

“No? So for you there are only two possibilities: To accomplish exactly what you set out to do, or catastrophic failure? How did that work out for you in the past?”

Dorian laughs, wetly. “Poorly,” he admits.

“Well then. Maybe you should think about that.”

 

~*~

 

They’re still sitting side by side when a commotion starts beyond the glow of the fire and Bull and Dorian go to investigate. It’s his boys and behind them Cullen and his men, two of them carrying a makeshift stretcher between them.

“Chief!” Krem shouts when he sees Bull and runs over, snow flying up behind him, the rest of the boys on his heels. Krem skitters to a halt in front of Bull, looking up at him angrily. “How are you here? We- ugh!” He punches Bull on the chest, not exactly lightly, but not hard enough to really hurt him either.

Bull grins ear to ear and pulls him into a hug, lifting him off his feet. Krem makes noises like a disgruntled cat and tries to squirm out of his embrace. Bull lets him, mainly because he’s tackled by the others, Dalish hanging off his neck, the others patting on his shoulders, or in Rocky’s case as high on his arm as he can reach, and Skinner promises to cut him up if he scares her like that again. For a moment they just stand around, happy and smiling at each other like fools and Bull just loves these assholes so much. The moment passes as every moment does.

“We found Evelyn,” Krem says, looking back towards the growing group of people who have gathered around Cullen’s soldiers. “Not sure if she’s going to make it though.”

Bull follows his gaze. Dorian has already run over, hovering over the still form of the girl, Cassandra and Cullen close by. Josephine approaches, gesturing them to bring the stretcher over to the fire, then bustles off again, looking for Mother Giselle.

“I’ll see if they need help,” Stitches says and follows the others.

Everything settles down eventually. During the last few quiet hours before dawn breaks, whispers rise up among the survivors. Their Herald is still with them. There’s still hope.

As soon as the sun rises, Josephine organises groups of people to try to salvage anything in or around Haven that might help them survive and sends others off to hunt for game.

Bull’s kept busy hauling heavy stuff around for the most part. He doesn’t mind. In his head he’s composing a lacklustre report about the attack on Haven, but he’s got no paper or ink to write it, nor any means to send it to the Ben-Hassrath for now, so it will have to wait.

By the end of the day, they’ve managed to put up a camp deserving the name, and everyone sits down to a meal of thin broth cooked out of one ram brought down by one of Fiona’s mages, and a whole lot of nugs, birds and squirrels caught by various others. There’s also a lot of elfroot in there as well, which is nutritious if not very tasty.

Stitches told Bull that Evelyn’s going to be alright, but she hasn’t woken up yet and it’s making people nervous. Everyone’s tired and irritable and the leaders have started to argue in hushed voices over where to go from here. A few minutes ago, Madame the Fer has joined the discussion, as if there weren’t opposing opinions enough between Cullen and Leliana alone. Josephine’s distracted pleas for peace and Cassandra’s impatience for any decision to be made don’t do much to help either.

“Mind if I join you?” Dorian asks suddenly. Like everyone else, he looks tired, but a far cry better than he did last night. It’s in the way he holds himself, standing straight and moving with newfound confidence. In the slight mocking twist to his lips that seems to defy their grim circumstances. He isn’t made for self-doubt, Bull thinks in passing.

 “Sure thing, Sparkler,” Varric says. “You’re fleeing from the bickering as well?” The Chargers have made their camp a bit off to the site, and Bull shares a fire with his boys, Varric and Sera.

Dorian smiles. “That, and the dirty glances I get from Mother Giselle. I’m afraid she doesn’t like me very much.” He sighs in an overdramatic way that implies that he knows exactly what he said or did to annoy her and doesn’t care one bit. “So I thought what better company to eat this… meal with.” He sits down and eyes the broth suspiciously. “I haven’t eaten anything containing vermin in over a month. At least that I know of. Makes me almost appreciate cabbage and tubers, if you can believe it.”

“They put nug in the pastries in Haven, if you count that,” Bull says helpfully.

“How would you know?”

“I was banging one of the cooks and they were lying right there.”

Sera cackles, his boys make various noises of disgust and Varric shakes his head. Dorian closes his eyes, breathes deeply. “How very unsanitary. I’ll just forget you said that and ask you to never speak of it in my presence again.”

They sit together a while longer, drinking elfroot tea against the cold, talking a bit every now and then. Krem seems less antagonistic towards Dorian than before, but Bull can’t tell if he’s simply too tired to muster his usual resentment or if Dorian’s earned himself some respect by saving Bull’s life.

They only notice that something is happening when the singing starts, first Mother Giselle’s voice, then Evelyn’s and Leliana’s followed by most of the others. Bull can see Evelyn standing next to the tent they put her in, before too many people crowd around her, hiding her from view behind them. It’s a nice song, probably part of their Chant of Light, its melody somber, its lyrics hopeful. Grim is the first of their group to stand up and start singing. He’s got an unexpectedly nice voice for a guy who’s effectively mute. Next is Sera, who can’t really carry a tune and either doesn’t know the lyrics, or simply prefers inventing her own. After her most of the others, even Dorian, are at least picking up on the repeating line of ‘the dawn will come’.

And Bull feels – something. He feels as if he’s part of something vast and inescapable, something good and worthwhile. It feels good. For a moment Bull wallows in that sentiment, before he remembers that he should be feeling like that all the time. That he did feel like that for the longest part of his life under the Qun, and that he can’t quite recall when that stopped. But it did stop. The thought extinguishes the warmth in his chest like an icy breeze. The light of the fire in front of him, just now bright and hot, seems suddenly dulled, and Bull feels the cold and the wind.

 


	11. A fortress, dreamt up

They break camp early the next morning, setting off not down into the valley, but along a pass towards the west and deeper into the mountains. Apparently Evelyn received a vision straight from Andraste. A vision of a fortress which is conveniently sitting somewhere close, right in the heart of the Frostback Mountains. It’s entirely incredible in the most literal sense of the word and yet, here they are, a few hundred people, following the Herald of Andraste wherever she will lead them.

While Bull stays with the Chargers during the track, Dorian is constantly showing up and disappearing again, going from talking to Evelyn at the front of their group to the back, and occasionally, like now, lingering in between.

“Where is it you keep going?” Bull asks him at some point.

Dorian hesitates, then shrugs. “Checking in on Alexius, if you must know.”

“So they did think of bringing him. Good for you.”

“Yes, positively lovely,” Dorian drawls.

Bull doesn’t say anything and finally Dorian sighs. “Nothing to do with you,” he sounds resigned. It’s not an apology, but it is a concession.

“You two were close?” Bull asks.

Dorian eyes him suspiciously. “Do you want to know because you’re just curious or is it for the Ben-Hassrath?”

Bull shrugs. “You chose to betray the man, that’s what counts in the end. Wouldn’t really matter to them how you feel about it.”

“I didn’t betray him!” Dorian snaps.

“No? Sure looked like it. Not that I’m complaining.”

Dorian puffs up at that. It’s quite the feat since he wasn’t exactly slouching before. “Stopping him was the right thing to do. For him as well. The man I knew would never have wanted what Evelyn and I saw in that future.” It’s a good act, the kind that only works if you make yourself believe it what you say, but Bull can see right through the cracks.

“You’ll still be saying that when they execute him for killing all these tranquils?” Bull asks.

Dorian physically recoils at that, looking ill. “I could hardly protest,” he says weakly. “But I still hope the Inquisition will show him more mercy than he may deserve.”

It’s a very diplomatic answer, but as far as Bull can tell it’s also a genuine one. There’s a lull in conversation. Bull would still like to know more about how Dorian came here and what connects him to Alexius. There’s a part of him that wants to pry apart every chink in Dorian’s armour, just because he keeps surprising Bull. He thinks about the ways he could lead in that direction, but in the end he holds himself back. There should always be thought and consideration between an impulse and the resulting action. You rarely get anything interesting out of people without asking uncomfortable questions, but with Dorian he’s let that particular impulse carry him away a few times too often by now. He won’t make the same mistake again.

“How do you know about the tranquils?” Dorian asks eventually.

Bull thinks about lying, but there’s no real reason to do so. “Leliana shares pertinent information with me to forward to the Ben-Hassrath in exchange for intelligence that may help the Inquisition.”

Dorian makes a disparaging noise. “Oh. Great.”

“Hey, you have to think positive,” Bull says cheerfully. “After we closed the breach I didn’t even have time to turn on you before the Inquisition stumbled into a war against Tevinter cultists led by a weird abomination. Looks like we’ll have common goals for quite some time, so if I were in your place I wouldn’t worry.”

“How very reassuring. Just tell me, what exactly does pertinent information mean?”

Bull shrugs. “Dunno exactly. Leliana gives me what she thinks I should know, I give her what I think she should know. Which hasn’t been much yet, I admit. For the most part, Par Vollen wants to be updated on what’s going on down here, so they don’t have to come looking for themselves.”

“Ah. In that light, yes, I see why Leliana would agree to that arrangement.”

 “Knew you would.” Bull smiles.

Dorian leaves to catch up to the front again after a few minutes, but he doesn’t seem in too much of a hurry. It probably doesn’t meant that the Qunari dread is wearing off, just that Dorian is as overwhelmed and dazed by the upheaval of the last two days as most of the others and it screws with his perspective.

Suddenly Krem is at Bull’s side looking up at him with a lopsided grin. “You sure have interesting conversations, Chief,” he says casually.

“Not nice, eavesdropping,” Bull replies mildly.

“Learned from the best, didn’t I. I stand by what I said: You totally screwed yourself by telling the truth when we started this contract. Should have pretended to be Vashoth like you always do.”

“And miss out on all that confused hostility? Nah, Leliana is much too good at what she does. I could have fooled her for a few months maybe, but you can see what we have on our hands now. This could take forever. I’d have to come clean now or be found out later. In both cases I would be more screwed than I am now.”

“If you say so,” Krem says, sounding extremely dubious, like Bull’s missing his point by a mile, but he won’t get into it for the sake of peace. Krem can be a passive-aggressive little shit if he wants to be. Well, Bull isn’t about to go there either. When Krem’s like this, he digs in his heels and trying to make him talk only gets ugly.

They walk along without a word for a while before Krem starts again. “Just- What’s that with you and the altus?” It’s asked lightly, jokingly, but underneath that Bull can hear real concern and no small amount of disapproval. Crap. What crawled up his ass to put him in such a confrontational mood?

“Still trying to figure him out,” Bull answers evasively.

 “Yeah? Because from where I’m standing it looks as if you’re having way too much fun baiting him.”

Bull grins. “Course I do. You know me, high-strung scholars are some of my favourite people to talk to. Don’t know how to keep to the surface of things. Too many opinions. You ask one probing question and it’s like opening a floodgate.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t come crying to me if you’re washed out into the sea. High-strung scholar, have you lost your mind?” Krem’s eyes narrow. “They didn’t set you up to seduce him or some shit like that, did they?”

“What? No,” Bull denies immediately, more fiercely than entirely necessary. After all, the idea isn’t all that farfetched.

Krem looks relieved. “Good. Because that would’ve been seriously fucked up on an entirely new level, right?”

“Right,” Bull says dutifully.

Krem makes that ‘aren’t you a piece of work’ face, so probably Bull didn’t manage to convince him that they’re on the same page about how fucked up it would be. “So, what is it that attracts you, him acting all superior or that he can burn off your cock if you finally manage to offend him?”

Bull winces. “Dunno what you want me to say, Krem-puff. I get a kick out of ruffling his feathers, that’s all, doesn’t mean anything.” Krem raises his eyebrows sceptically. “Doesn’t hurt to look, does it?” Krem’s eyebrows climb further. “Anyway, ball’s in his court,” Bull ends weakly.

Krem shakes his head in exasperation. “Well if it’s like that. Great.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. Shit.

Bull sighs, fed up. “How about you cut the crap and tell me what your problem is. Use simple words,” he adds with an unconvincing smirk.

Krem crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks at Bull mulishly. “Fine. I don’t know what’s his damage, but he keeps talking to you, so don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re doing. ‘Ball’s in his court’ my ass.”

“Hey, you sound as if I make him do anything he doesn’t want to.”

Krem huffs derisively. “That man does exactly what he wants, no worries there. So. Simple words: It’ll blow up in your face. You’re smart. Don’t go there. That’s about it.”

“Aw, Krem de la Crème. How nice of you to care.”

Krem ducks his head to hide a smile. “Fuck off, Chief.” Thing is, Krem’s right. Bull knows he’s right. He just can’t seem to help himself.

“Got a different question for you: What do you think about the magical castle we’re walking to? You think it smells of Solas as much as I do?”

“Oh wait, you mean we’re not actually led to salvation by a vision of Andraste?” Krem asks in mock outrage, before adding more seriously. “You know, I have to admit, I’ve seen more impossible things since we’ve thrown our lot in with this crazy bunch of Chantry folks than I have in my whole life before the sky cracked open. So maybe the Herald is the real deal, whatever that means. But what’s more likely? Our resident somniari dreaming up some ancient elven ruin, something he talks about doing all the time, and putting that bug in the Herald’s ear, or actual theophany?”

“Weird. If you believe in Andraste and don’t discount the possibility that the boss might be her Herald, then why would you still prefer a rational explanation over a religious one?”

“No!” Krem shakes his head and takes a few steps away from Bull. “I’ve let you draw me into a discussion about religion once. Never again. You just don’t get it.”

“You know what the boss would say? That Andraste sent Solas to her to aid in her mission.”

Krem laughs. “Bet he’d love that.”

~*~

The fortress they reach after a few days exceeds all expectations. They’re all hungry and tired, but there’s a wave of euphoria running through them as they catch sight of it. The fortress is called Skyhold, and it’s a fitting name. It’s a huge, sturdy thing sitting on top of a mountain as if it grew out of its very stone, all high walls glowing in the afternoon light. The only way in is through a heavily fortified bridge over a deep ravine.

As they come closer Bull can see that the buildings and walls aren’t completely intact. There’s a lot of work to be done if they want to stay here, but it’s still in much better shape than he anticipated. Held together against the elements by magic, he thinks, like all of the elven ruins still standing to this day. Inside, the air is warm, even warmer than being out of the wind can account for. There’s no snow on the ground, no ice anywhere. It makes Bull uncomfortable.

“Dalish,” he asks, “am I just imagining that this place is weird or what does your archery tell you?”

Dalish grins at him. “It’s weird,” she confirms. “But good weird, I think.” She reaches out a hand to touch her fingertips to the stones of the closest wall. “Feels like it’s happy we’re here.”

“I don’t find that very reassuring,” Krem says. “Who agrees with me?”

Bull raises his hand. So do all of his boys except Dalish and Stitches.

“You know what,” Varric says from where he walks close to them. “If the woman says this is a happy castle, I’ll take that. I’m really sick of this hike. Also I think I’ve finally reached the highest place in Thedas. My ancestors are probably turning in their graves.”

There’s a lot of bustling around as they try to get settled in the few hours before the light fades.

Bull is stopped in his tracks by Josephine. “The Iron Bull,” she says in her usual formal manner, “I hope you and your company have withstood the unfortunate circumstances reasonably well?”

“Could be worse,” Bull answers. “Is there anything I can help you with, Lady Montilyet?”

She smiles at him. She’s quite a lovely woman. “Indeed, you might. Do you have a minute?”

“For you, always.”

“As you’re surely aware, our nutritional situation isn’t good. We’ve had enough success hunting on the way here that nobody had to go hungry for longer than a day yet, but we need to establish supply lines.” she says, mind firmly on her work. “I would ask you to identify those of your company who are experienced hunters and trackers and leave them here while the rest of you will join Seeker Pentaghast to bring supplies from Jader. I have already assigned messengers to leave in the morning to re-establish contact to the Inquisition camps in the Hinterlands and have them help as well, but they have limited means.”

“Sounds good,” Bull says. “You got enough gold to keep going?”

“Well,” Josephine hedges, flustered about the mention of money. “Serah Tethras has offered us a loan with the Merchants’ Guild on very generous conditions, so you don’t need to worry about your company getting paid.”

Bull cracks up into a booming laugh. “The Inquisition financed by Varric of all people, that’s just too good. I would’ve loved to see Cassandra’s face.”

“I did not yet tell her,” Josephine says primly, trying semi-successfully to hide a mischievous smile. “Nor, do I think, did anyone else.”

“Won’t be me who breaks this to her either,” Bull agrees, still smiling. “And never mind the money. If you can’t pay right now, you work something out with Krem. He’s a reasonable guy.”

“I will do that before you leave.” Josephine makes a note on the clipboard she’s always carrying with her. “Oh, and consider leaving your healer here to help with the wounded. It would be a great help.”

“Stitches? No problem.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “Your support is highly appreciated. I will not forget it.”

Bull smiles back at her, thinking if there’s something he could ask of her in return, because right now is a perfect opportunity, and he remembers. “Any chance you could spare some paper and ink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, after a lot of dithering, I decided to end this here and continue in a new installment in a series as soon as I've written a bit more than what I've got right now. This has a simple reason: I had a talk with a friend about writing and decided that setting myself achievable goals might help me. So this is an experiment to see if I can actually motivate myself to finish something long this way.  
> I mean, this is 100% self-indulgent writing anyway and I've only a very vague idea where I'm going with this, so to the 40 or so people following this fic: Thank you so much for reading and giving feedback and kudos and bookmarking. I'm happy that you found something unique and likable enough in here to bear with all the rehashing of canon, and I hope you're not disappointed. I haven't lost interest in this project yet and with a bit of luck I will achieve something like narrative coherence over time, maybe I'll even think of something miraculous like an actual plot.


End file.
